Better to burn out, than fade away
by sandmanfan
Summary: Sequel to 'Bearer' With Dean exhibiting ever increasingly strange behaviour, and news of a new threat from Bobby, it's up to Sam to figure out what's going on. Lots of Hurt/Dean.
1. Chapter 1 It begins

All you need to know.

This is the sequel to 'Bearer of all Light'. Don't worry if you haven't read that story, here is all you need to know.

A little after Sam left for Stanford, John and Dean were butting heads. So much so, that when another hunter turned up, asking for help with a job, Dean agrees to go. The hunter's name was Jacob Hearn, and he was obsessively searching for a book, a book that was meant to be a legend. The first ever Devil's Trap, captured between the pages of a red leather bound tome.

John discovers that Jacob, and his partner in crime Stanley Cobb, had malicious plans for Dean and steps in, killing Jacob and making things right with his son, but tells Dean that the hunter must have just left town without him.

Years later, having gone undercover to retrieve a relic, Dean comes across the book but before he can escape with his prize, one of the demons from the pages escapes, and tries to hunt him down in an attempt to take over Deans body. It almost succeeds before being re-summoned by Bobby, back into the pages of its prison.

Dean recovers, _a little too fast_, and the book is hidden…now read on…

Better to burn out - than fade away

Chapter 1 – It begins

Harsh, driving rain crashed down heavily on the cabin walls, reverberating like an unending round of applause and making the wet logs smell of rot and mould; of things long since dead. Inside the room, three men sat restlessly in the dim, half light, waiting nervously until a sudden, sharp scrapping noise caused all three to snap to attention. The whining rasp of a heavy wooden door as it swung open, grinding on a rusty hinge, was followed by heavy booted footfalls.

Mildew walls and crusty floorboards had never looked so interesting; no one wanted to be the first to meet this newcomer's eye.

He walked slowly on purpose, stalking towards the heavily stained wooden table. As he neared he pulled at the back of the only empty chair, swinging it out of his way, scratching its legs on the dusty timber. Standing tall in its place, he peered down at all three men, glaring at them all with ill concealed contempt while they sat and fidgeted.

Bending forward, he placed both calloused wet palms on the table at his hip and stared at each of their faces in turn, while water trickled a path down from his lank hair and greasy, grey beard. He snorted loudly; _the muscle, the impulsive one and the runt – what a team._

The single bare white light bulb swung dangerously overhead, casting a coarse shadow over sunken features, and still no one met his eye… _Silence_… Then someone cleared their throat and someone else took a gulp of sour drink, sputtering. But no one spoke.

So, it was up to him. "Well, ain't this something? God damned family reunion."

He swung left and zoned in on the youngest, the most obviously curious. The kid's noticeable lack of experience and overabundance of testosterone gave him false bravado and he chanced to look up. Once he did, he found he couldn't break his eyes free of that icy contact. Locked in the embrace of the intensely cold, dark gaze, the boy felt a chill surge through him and he swallowed, _thickly_, rubbing the back of one hand through rough fledgling stubble.

Someone slammed down an empty shot glass on the table in front of the recent arrival, breaking the connection, and earning the kid's eternal gratitude. His savior with the bottle leaned forward, slopping half a shot on the wood as he filled the glass with a trembling hand and yellowed fingers…years of past nicotine abuse. He pushed the gift forward, the other man downing the amber heat in one full gulp. With that one simple action, he'd granted them permission to speak.

"What's the job?" The 'muscle' kept it short and sweet; no-one was there for their health.

"Old job, Kyle. One that ain't finished – one that needs finishing now."

As he spoke, he turned his head to look out of the rattling window. Outside, the rain was still thunderously heavy and icy cold, the moon a flat silver plate in the inky sky, and he watched it with unfaltering attention for just a moment. Then, he reached into his front coat pocket and withdrew a stained photograph, slamming it onto the table under his palm. It was small, old and worn, with a deep crease down the middle that made it look…used. The grainy image was the head shot of a young man with short dark hair and clear green eyes, not as innocent as the runt, but still youthful.

After a few short moments, William Kale, the impulsive one, spoke up gruffly. "He's just a kid, Stanley. Not exactly my usual kinda job. What you got in mind?"

Stanley Cobb's eyes burned straight through William's skull, his voice razor-sharp. "Make it your usual kinda job, Bill. This 'kid' has something that by rights belongs to me…and I want what's mine."

Bill huffed and stuck out his chest, feeling embarrassingly vulnerable. He considered himself a tough guy, not easily swayed or influenced by anyone or anything and it'd been a long time since he'd been unnerved by an ordinary man. But then, it'd been a long time since he's spoken to Stanley Cobb. And besides, Cobb had been called many things, but 'ordinary' had never been one of them.

"What he do? He steal something from you? What he take?"

"Ain't stole nothing." Bill and Kyle exchanged a mistrustful look that was not lost on the man paying their wage. "You don't need to know, just pick him up and bring him here, and then it's my business."

"Just how busy do you want us to get?" Kyle stared down at his own stained hands as he questioned Stanley, painfully aware that this man was on a knife's edge. He didn't like working with unpredictable or volatile types, but sometimes the devil spits right in your face, and you've got to have what it takes to spit right back.

Lifting the small stained photo, Stanley smeared an oily finger over the tiny granular image. "Do what you have to, but get him here."

There was no doubt in Stanley's mind that this was the same person. The blond hair and dark suit he'd been seen wearing just a few weeks ago, couldn't hide the hunters' intensity that burned out from those green eyes. And this was the same picture he'd worked from, all those years ago. Then it'd been his job to find and teach this drunken kid a lesson in pain he wouldn't forget – until Jacob could get there and play the rescuer that was. He'd overdone it a little back then, enjoyed his work a little too much maybe. _He was going to enjoy it a whole lot more, this time around._

The runt spoke for the first time, the pitch of his voice, a testament to his youth. "He got a name?"

"Goes by many. Real one's Winchester – _Dean Winchester_."

TBC

Thanks for any and all reviews guys, they always make my day and I'll do my best to answer every one. XX Louy


	2. Chapter 2 From the Ashes

Better to burn out - than fade away

Chapter 2 – From the ashes

The hundred year old spirit of Eli Kane turned out to be a slippery customer and mean to boot, not to mention as lethal as a bucket of poison. He'd killed two ramblers already and finished off one hunter, slit his throat from ear to collar bone with a scythe, and left him there by the lake for passers-by to find. Great way to start your morning – sliding on a pool of black blood while out walking Fido.

Bobby had known him well. And he'd been a good man, didn't deserve to go like that – but then who the hell did? One minute, alive and fighting - the next, dead and gone. Such was the life of the hunter.

Dean hadn't hesitated for a second. With eagerness bordering on desperation to get back in the game, a nice clean salt and burn was just what he'd been looking for. He didn't care how mean the feature player was, as far as he was concerned, the meaner the better – got the juices flowing. And besides, Bobby Singer had lost a friend so this was payback.

As far as Sam was concerned though, this was one huge mistake. Just two weeks ago, Dean had been so badly injured he could barely stand. Now here he was; stronger, faster, more agile and more toxic than ever before, with no real explanation and for an unusually dangerous salt and burn he was having way too much fun.

Sam watched as the older hunter worked. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his brother's back, Dean's muscles tensing and bunching under the thin material of his shirt – he was a certifiable, damned, digging machine. So far he'd scoured the entire area with EMF, and in less time than it took Sam to scratch his ass, he'd discovered the grave. Now he was digging like his life depended on it, and knowing what Sam had discovered about Eli Kane – it probably did.

But the younger Winchester needed time. He was still recovering from his own injuries, although they were mostly on the inside. Watching as his brother nearly died twice in one day had taken its toll, and he found himself feeling more protective than ever – and more pushed away. Ever since that damned book, Dean had been closed off, withdrawn, not quiet exactly, _never quiet_ – just 'absent' sometimes.

The chilly early morning breeze was picking up now, shifting the fallen leaves from their dark lakeside bed and tossing them across the surface of the water. Sam stood huddled beside the large oak tree, his cotton jacket held tight-fisted as he suppressed a shiver.

"Y'okay, Sammy?" Dean immediately looked up from the deep hole he was digging, pausing briefly in his work to do that thing he did best; look out for his little brother. Sam had never figured out how Dean could always tell. 'How did he know, every damn time?'

"Sammy! You okay!?"

Ignoring his brother's concerned tone, Sam's was sarcastic. "Just waiting for you to finish all the work by yourself. So tell me, if this Eli turns up, you gonna let me shoot him or you gonna leap out of his grave and do _that_ yourself too?" Lips pressed together in a tight line of frustration, he could easily hear the smirk in his brother's voice as he replied.

"Might let you get a shot in edgeways if it stops you sulking. And if you promise not to miss him and hit me instead." Dean reached down and cleared the last of the dirt from the coffin. "Heads up dude, here we go."

Sam stood resolutely, shotgun in hand, scanning the area for any sign of Kane as he listened to the familiar sound of the ancient pine wood groaning and splintering.

Then, Dean's head and shoulders appeared from the open grave, breathing hard and looking just a little bit sheepish. He crossed his arms and leaned on the muddy bank. "We may have a _tiny_ little problem."

Tilting his chin towards his older brother in confusion, Sam took a few hesitant steps towards the hole in the ground and watched as Dean gestured into the void behind him. "Empty…nothing in there, dude." He shrugged and sucked at his cheek, not really sure what to do or say next.

Letting out a slow frustrated breath, Sam let the shotgun hang limply from his hand – he was at a loss, just standing, watching as his brother bounded up the side of the grave in one leap and set about collecting the tools and weapons, stashing them in the green holdall and making for the car.

Rubbing at the stubble on his chin, Sam pondered the puzzle laid out in front of him.

He'd missed something, he was sure of it. This mean SOB had been a local arsonist, murderer and wasn't exactly popular with the ladies, but that'd never stopped him taking what he wanted. He'd drowned his last victim in this lake a hundred years ago and was lynched for his trouble, right here under the biggest oak. Apparently, some of the local ladies had taken it upon themselves to mutilate the corpse with a scythe before burying him in a cheap pine box under that same tree, or that's what the legend said, and that's where the tale ended. Until six weeks ago; when a kid out walking with a metal detector wound up in pieces.

"Dean, wait up, this might make sense." He loped after his brother, struggling to catch up to him. "What if they never buried the body? Maybe there wasn't anything left to bury after the mutilation, or what if they dumped the pieces in the lake?"

"So why go to the trouble of burying an empty coffin?"

"Well the records I got were from the parish; maybe it was the church that organised the burial? We're talking over a hundred years ago, so they may have wanted to make a show of burying something, right?"

"Hmmm." Dean was less than convinced. "Not making too much sense there, Sammy. What's keeping him here if there's no body?"

"I'm guessing he's here because he was mutilated and killed here, and the EMF went off over the grave so there must be something, maybe blood or hair. We could just burn the coffin…but we won't have any way to tell if it worked. I think the scythe is the key, seems to be his weapon of choice. The first victim, that kid with the detector; well, what if he found a piece of the weapon? And all the sightings and deaths have been at this spot; and the other hunter's body was found... just over there…" He pointed to a dark patch of ground by the lakeside and took a ragged breath, still pulling tightly at the edges of his thin jacket.

"Jeez, do you ever stop talking?" Pausing, Dean blinked at his brother. Then he looked back at the clearing, weighing the merits of this latest theory in his mind, still sceptical. "So what do you suggest, Nancy Drew?"

Sam looked at his watch. "It's ten after one now. Time of death for all three victims was between 2 and 4am. We could hang around, see what shows up."

Slowly nodding. "Random – but I like it. Okay. Guess we're playing the waiting game; and the _baiting_ game, have to give him a reason for coming out of hiding, huh." He slapped his brother on the chest as he stalked past him back to the clearing, and the edge of the lake.

Looking out over the water, Dean allowed himself a moment. He arched his back and felt the familiar grind of aching muscle on bone, and it felt good. In fact, for the last ten days or so, everything had felt good. Common sense told him it probably shouldn't, but Dean Winchester was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth, and if the universe had finally decided to give him a break, well, who the hell was he to complain about that?

The bright moonlight was harsh and giving off a dazzling amount of light, casting slashes of pale phosphorescence across the surface of the water. The eddying motion made the blades of silver flicker. It looked like the whole lake was on fire – hot white fire. Somewhere, something moved in the recesses of Dean's memory – something not forgotten exactly, just stored away, but beyond his reach, like a dream just moments after waking.

Sam watched the motionless, black silhouette of his brother, a stark shape against the flickering silver of the lake.

"Dean?"

No answer. "DEAN!"

Still nothing. Walking between the narrower tree trunks at the waters edge, Sam stood and looked with concern at his silent brother. He could just see a glint of the pale light reflecting from the waters edge, dancing through his brothers blank eyes as he continued to stare at the lake. Placing one hand on Dean's shoulder, Sam spoke with gentleness. "Dude. What's going on in that head of yours, man?"

"Huh?" Dean spun, looking around clearly startled by the touch and taken aback by the question.

"You were gone, man – where were you?"

Shrugging out of his brother's touch, he sounded bemused. "What are you talking about? I'm right here." Lifting a hand he rubbed it through his short hair.

And there, even more proof that things weren't how they should be. Three small gold fingerprints stood out bright against Dean's dark hairline. Those tiny reminders, just below the temple were all that was physically left of his encounter with the fire demon and they spoke volumes, and stubbornly refused to disappear.

He took a moment to look back out at the water before starting back towards the tree line, noticing Sam's stare as he passed. Dean brushed his fingers through the pale smudges almost absentmindedly as he settled down next to the huge oak, and then twisted his head to look at his brother, grinning mischievously and arching his brow. "You know what they say, Sammy, the ladies love to ride a pinto."

And there he was – the real Dean back with a vengeance. So maybe he was himself after all, maybe he just needed a little more time. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked. "Yeah, I seem to remember walking in on that one."

"Ah yeah, I seem to remember you walking in on that one too. Well I hope you learned a thing or two, little brother." Dean retrieved his shotgun from the bag and started stashing rounds in various pockets.

"I think I graduated out of the amateur league quite a while back, Dean, but thanks for the tutorial."

"Don't you believe it, Sammy! You could still learn a thing or two from the master. You just gotta keep an open mind and think with the downstairs brain a little more often. Know what I mean?

Before Sam could even think about answering, the already cold temperature of the area plummeted to below freezing causing him to instinctively drop for cover. He watched the small pale cloud of white mist appearing with his every breath, as he whispered to his brother. "Dude, are you getting this?"

Dean grinned devilishly as he dropped behind the cover of the dense undergrowth just a few feet away and whispered back. "All over it like sticky sweat on a loose woman, Sammy."

Sam knitted his brow, grimacing. "Oh man! Watch the imagery there, Dean, that's a mental picture I really didn't need right now…think you could focus on the job at hand."

"He's showing up kinda early to this party isn't he?" Dean was checking his watch as he spoke. "Thought you said any time after 2 on the invite. But then I guess we don't write the rules, huh, just try to keep up with them."

Ten more minutes of waiting, and Dean was getting decidedly antsy.

"Okay, that's it. Dude, throw me the EMF, gonna hunt this sucker down – getting sick of waiting for this pissy, avenging bad guy with a scythe fetish to jump us."

Sam considered talking his brother out of it for a whole two seconds but knew how futile that would be, there really was no point. Leaning back he located the small device in the weapons bag, lobbing it in an arc. Just as Dean reached out a hand to grab the gadget out of the air…and saw Sam's eyes open wide in shock, looking just past his shoulder. He barely had time to pull his wrist away, to prevent the descending scythe blade from severing it.

Spinning on the ground Dean looked up into the bleak, desolate eyes of Eli Kane and realised that 'pissy' was probably the worst understatement of the century.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 Objects in the mirror

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 3 – Objects in the mirror

"Where'd he go, Sammy? You see anything? Where the hell did he go?" Dean wheeled round on the damp ground and stared, aiming his shotgun into the empty space. The spirit had vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind nothing but static and dark wisps of grey mist. This thing was fast – knew how to stay just out of their reach, and he didn't like the idea of that at all.

Moving swiftly; he reached for the weapons bag, helping himself to fuel, salt and matches. If Sam was right they would have to burn this sucker from the grave. Hunter's instinct on full alert, Dean nodded to his brother who took up an opposing stance, sweeping the other side of the clearing with his aim. All Dean had to do was get to the graveside – easy. Skirting the clearing, using the trees for as much cover as they would allow, he headed out, making it nearly all the way to the uncovered coffin before he heard Sam's shouted warning.

"DEAN, ten o clock."

Looking slightly to his left, he saw the tendrils of something ghostly starting to coalesce into a form and unloaded one barrel dead centre, not waiting around to watch the effect. He knew Sammy had his back and his main job now was to get the damned thing burning. Grabbing the salt container from his pocket, he ducked low next to the grave and threw down a line, trying to cover as much of the coffin and surrounding area as he could. Next the fuel…but he never got the chance as the spirit of Eli rushed from out of nowhere, dragging him up from the front and denying the other hunter a clear shot. Dean was propelled backwards landing hard and skidding into the loose earth and bracken.

Sam saw his opportunity and fired once, sending the first barrel full of salt and shot, straight through the centre of the ghostly figure. With a screech the spirit was gone again, leaving behind nothing but a pale translucent residue on the air.

"Nice shooting, Tex." Standing up and brushing himself down, Dean smiled and gave his brother a curt, breathless nod of thanks as he ran to the graveside, scooping up the fuel canister as he went. Pouring the gasoline over the salted coffin, he could still see Sam out of the corner of his eye, scanning the clearing for any sign of the enemy – keeping him safe.

Dean struck the bundle of matches along the rough abrasive and held the small flame low, cupping it in his other hand protectively. Just for a moment, that small golden flicker was mesmerizing; he couldn't take his eyes off that tiny glimmering life form.

"Just light it already, Dean!" Sam's shout was a slap in the face, instantly bringing the older hunter back to the present.

The flame ignited the second it hit the accelerant, the grave exploding outwards in a yellow and amber frenzy of flaming light. The glowing tongues of swirling heat danced on the breeze with a life all their own…and Dean was transfixed. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Sam's muffled shout, warning him about something but couldn't make himself respond – the flames held him captive.

Then, he could sense the spirit behind him as the static made the hairs all over his body prickle. But he couldn't bring himself to care. All his attention was focused on the raging fire, bursting into existence in front of him, swirling with the current of the early morning mist. It felt so good – it felt so right.

Sam caught sight of the stark glint of moonlight reflecting off the curved metal, as the scythe arched its way towards his brothers back. Running forward, he knew he was way too close to Dean for a safe shot but he fired anyway, purely on instinct, choosing what he hoped was the lesser of two evils. The rock salt hit its mark square on, and the Ghost dissipated – only to return instantaneously, right in front of Sam, and his very empty shotgun.

"Dean, a little help, DEAN !"

He dropped to the ground heavily, feeling the swish of the arced weapon barely fly over his head, and rolled to the left. He could still see Dean in his peripheral vision, standing, staring into that flaming grave – what the hell was wrong with him? Survival instincts taking over, Sam was up and on his feet in no time, racing towards the tree line. He knew his best chance now was avoidance, and with Dean in some bizarre catatonic state, Sam knew it was up to him to draw Eli away, at least until the fire had a chance to do its job. He just prayed they'd been right burning the grave or this was going to be a real short hike.

ooooo

The drive back to the motel had been the silent ride from hell, and Sam was up and out of the car the moment the engine stopped turning. He was upset, and he'd good reason to be. Dean couldn't explain what'd happened at the graveside – so he didn't even really try, which pissed off the younger Winchester all the more. Sam wasn't buying the 'no idea what happened' line, or even the 'my head was hurting and I lost focus for a second' line. He knew his brother would never complain of a headache even when he had one for real. No, Dean should have been able to come up with something better than that. Something was going down, and Sam was determined to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

Stomping into their motel room, he automatically threw himself onto the small wooden chair in front of his laptop, preparing to do the one thing he knew might give him a clue – an idea, however vague, as to what the hell was going on. The anger he felt towards Dean was still flaring red hot. He could picture him in his mind, just standing, staring at nothing, while Sam got his ass kicked from one end of that clearing to the other, until finally the fire had destroyed whatever part of Eli Kane was left, dissolving his ghostly form into the ether. Sam raised one hand to his bruised mouth. The damage felt pretty superficial and he was sure he'd had a whole lot worse, but never while Dean stood by, frozen to the spot looking like he wasn't even there. No, that was a first.

Dean dumped the bag of weapons on the floor by the door and looked his brother over, attempting and failing miserably to get him to return the eye contact. "Sooo. Want to go get some food, Sammy? I'm hungry as hell."

Nothing.

He rolled his eyes at the silent treatment but persevered; he just couldn't help but push. "Must be all this 'fazing out' you're talking about, sure is giving me an appetite, what do you say, Sammy? Burger or steak with your fries?" Dean held his breath just waiting for the inevitable bitching, and as if on cue, there it was.

"Do I want to get some food…? What the hell's with you, Dean...! Did you even see Kane coming for you …? Do you know how close you came to having a scythe stuck in your back? Hell… Did you see him coming for _me_? What the hell's wrong with you anyway?" Sam stood up and paced the small room, his voice getting louder and sharper with every accusation. Dean just stood, taking the brunt of Sam's anger and frustration on the chin.

"And while were at it, just what in hell did you think you were looking… "Sam suddenly stopped, his attention caught by something else. "What's that?" He paused in his tracks long enough to poke his brother in the side, making Dean yelp and jump backwards, barely missing the weapons holdall on the floor.

"YEOW! What'd you do that for?" He grabbed at his ribs protectively, only then noticing the warm sticky trace of blood oozing out from several tiny, circular, blackened holes in his shirt, sticking the material to his skin.

Sam looked mortified. "SHIT…Dean, that's buckshot…Did I catch you? Why the hell didn't you say something? I can't believe I shot you…and I can't believe you didn't say something. Take off your shirt, let me look…I'll take care of it." Sam hurried to the duffel, all previous anger and frustration lost in worry and concern; he'd grabbed the first aid kit before Dean had a chance to complain.

"It's okay, Sammy…I can take care of it."

But Sam was not going to be put off easily as he reached out to grab his brother's shirt. "Nah, come on dude, let me help. Dean – please."

"SAM, I said NO. JEEZ! Just leave it alone." Dean's voice was harsh, way harsher than he intended but it had the desired effect and Sam stepped back as though he'd been slapped.

"Just…go get us some coffee or something…Sammy. Just go, okay?" Dean snatched the first aid kit from his brother's hand and turned, walking towards the bathroom, leaving Sam to stand and look at the empty space where his brother had been standing.

He felt utterly deflated. All his anger had morphed into guilt and concern, and he had no adrenaline left to argue. He turned, slowly heading for the door and the required caffeine fix because at that moment, he truly couldn't think of anything else to do, except what Dean wanted – be somewhere else.

Dean walked into the bathroom and dumped the first aid kit on the floor, gently closing and locking the door behind him. He grabbed the cool porcelain of the sink with both hands and hung his head low between sore shoulders, swearing softly under his breath. He hadn't even felt the salt and shot hit him, and that followed the same weird pattern all his injuries had over the last couple of weeks. There was no denying it now; this was all kinds of wrong. Straightening, he lifted his shirt and looked at the tiny marks along his flank where just moments ago, there had been holes. The rough pieces of buckshot and rock salt had worked their way out of his flesh and were embedded in the folds of the material of his shirt, the wounds all but closed. 'Yeah, all kinds of wrong'.

He took in a long, slow, deep breath before looking up into the silver glass of the mirror. Focusing on the small pale imprints below his hairline, he vividly remembered the intense, all consuming pain as the demon had invaded him – had pushed inside his mind. He still had the nightmares to remind him. Staring intently at his own eyes and with a voice barely a whisper, he spoke just one word. _"Christo"_

Nothing but cool, green moss gazed back, and Dean couldn't halt the surge of relief that swept over him as he looked at his own reflection – he was still himself. Swallowing hard, he dropped his eyes to the sink and tried to concentrate on slowing down his raging heartbeat.

Sam was long gone when he walked back into the bedroom so he sat on the edge of the bed nearest the door and gazed at his bag.It'd always amazed him that his whole life could fit so neatly into one small duffel bag, and still feel half empty. Just like him, he thought. Half empty. Even stronger and more energised than ever before, the emptiness would creep up on him when he least expected it. He needed to work on that – stay focused, he couldn't afford to put Sammy in danger. This shit could never happen again!

He looked at the small clock on the wall. 06:45am. He didn't know when to expect the younger man back, and if Sam was as pissed as he ought to be, it could be a while. Dean lay back on the narrow bed, his mind working overtime as he started to plan exactly how to make things right – or at least as right as he could, right now.

ooooo

BobbySingerswung his legs out of bed andgrowled as his warm feet touched the cold floor. He stomped to the small table and picked up the annoyingly loud mobile, noticing the small neon time.

06:45am. 'God damn it.'

Sniffing loudly, he answered the call.

"This had better be important…" He listened hard to the tinny voice on the other end of the line. "Yeah, course I remember you…"Another pause. "Is that right! You sure?...Are you absolutely sure about this?...Yeah, I think we should meet up too, where are you?...Yeah, I can be there in…bout 3 hours, give or take…I'll see you there. And – best keep this to yourself."

Bobby snapped the phone shut and stared at the small dark plastic shape as though it were the most distasteful thing he'd ever seen in his life.

ooooo

The diner stank of burnt burger meat and grease leaving an oily residue in the air as Bill Kale sat in the back booth, examining the breakfast menu distastefully. He had no interest in food, just wanted to get this meeting over with as quick as possible. The pretty young waitress who sidled over to him never had a chance to ask for an order before he dismissed her with a withering look and a barked demand. "Coffee – Black." She filled his cup and left hastily, trying not to look too much like a victim.

He looked up to watch her go, pleased to taste her fear, and saw the large hulking figure of the man he'd gone there to meet staring back at him. For a moment he didn't know if he should stand, Stanley Cobb's demeanor demanding respect, but then he thought better of it. Better to be seen as an equal – or at least, try to be seen as an equal.

Cobb paced the small galley diner, working his way to the back booth, causing other patrons to get out of his way without having to ask. It was one of his many innate abilities – people just got the hell out of his way – always had. He sat in the booth opposite Kale and watched him through hooded eyes. "Well?"

"You said you wanted to be kept informed."

"So, inform me." He nodded slowly, those dark eyes intensely penetrating as the words rolled from his mouth.

"He's got a brother. Samuel, younger, and by the sounds of it they work as a double act. Their daddy, hunter called John has dropped under the radar, been gone for a while now. No one seems to know where. He's the one who trained them. Couldn't find out too much 'bout him, seems he didn't go in for friends much but the few he did have are pretty loyal, won't spill. The boys have at least one guardian angel though, goes by the name of Singer, 'nother hunter." He sat back looking smug, taking a halting sip of the scalding hot coffee.

After a pause, Cobb grimaced, a feral smile showing yellowed teeth; it was the smile of someone delighting in another's failure. "So, you call me here to tell me what I already know." The threatening, growling tone of Stanley's voice sent a shiver running up the other man's spine, but he suppressed the tremble before it could give him away.

"There's more."

Stanley leaned across the table, closing the distance between them. "I sure hope so, Bill, or you've wasted my morning."

"The kid was holed up for a couple of weeks at Singers place, seems a recent job went bad for him and his brother and they needed a bit of help – a job that may just sound a little familiar to you. Man called Warminger? Had a certain book for sale? A book, that's now missing?" He could tell he'd done it; he'd garnered Stanley Cobb's interest, and that had to be good for something, didn't it?

Cobb's eyes were a blaze of intensity, but there was a hint of a genuine smile on that hair lipped mouth.

"Well, Bill…you have my full attention."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 Malevolent thoughts

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 4 – Malevolent thoughts

Dean hadn't come up with any way to make things better between him and Sam, mostly because as far as he could see, the younger man was stuck in a self made emotional loop switching between guilt and rage. One minute, he was Mr. Sulky 'n Silent – pissed at the world, and hell bent on letting everyone else know about it. The next, he was 'Emo-man', the bearer of all things 'girly', including sad, desolate eyes and a twisted desire for chocolate that wasn't peanut M&M's.

So, Dean sat quietly against the headboard and idly flicked the remote from station to station. Nothing was catching his eye. Afternoon TV sucked. Sam was in front of his laptop, head bent low, trying to pretend he wasn't throwing regular searching glances at his brother who, for his part was certain Sam was doing it on purpose just to piss him off.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah? What?" He looked up way too fast and Dean knew from past experience exactly what that meant. _'Oh Jeez, Sammy wants to share'._

"I swear, if you look at me just one more time with that 'Puppysville, country n' western – my woman just up n' left me – crap', I'm gonna smack it right off your face."

"Dean, this isn't funny."

"Do I sound like I'm laughing to you?"

"We need to talk about this."

"Talk about what?"

To Sam that was as good as an invitation and his voice softened dramatically. "About what's going on with you, dude."

"Nothing's going on with me, _dude_. Except I'm being driven stir crazy by the geekiest _jolly green_ in the world, who'd rather sit and gaze at me with puppy dog eyes, than find us another job."

"Oh really? Cos' last time I looked, 'US' doing a job, would require 'US' both being AWAKE while were trying to shoot the bad guys. And I'm not sure another job is such a great idea, not until you can at least admit that something's going on here." Sam's voice was cutting but was met with a blank stare, a stony silence and a set jaw. He tried again, gentler this time. "Dean, look whatever it is, we can deal, but you've gotta tell me what's going on. I know I can help."

Dean met his brother's eyes and for a fleeting second Sam was convinced he was going to spill. They were going to talk. He was going to let him help – to let him in.

Instead, Dean tilted his head towards the duffle bag on the floor by Sam's bed. "Is that dirty?"

"What? Umm…I don't know, yeah, I think so…"

Climbing off the bed Dean swooped on the duffle, throwing it over his shoulder in one easy movement and stomped towards the door. "Gonna do the laundry. Back later."

"Dean? DEAN, THIS ISN'T GOING TO GO AWAY BY ITSELF." As the door slammed behind Dean, Sam slammed a fist down hard on the table next to the computer, his frustration just too much to keep inside any longer.

ooooo

Wide, brown eyes, watched as Dean left the motel, walked across the street and into the launderette.

A scribble in the journal recorded time and location. That was quickly followed by a detailed description of the clothes he was wearing, the bag he was carrying – even how determined he'd looked.

Watch and record. Record and watch.

Not the most thrilling of jobs, but he was still going to do it to the very best of his ability. Before this job was done, Stanley Cobb would be seeing him in a new light, and the others would see him as a force to be reckoned with, rather than just – the runt.

ooooo

Dean pushed open the door to the launderette and took a furtive look around. The place was empty, just the way he needed it. Quiet and empty and away from annoying little bitch, geek-ass brothers who don't know when to quit. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of the place – warm damp air and the strong aroma of detergent and bleach. _Nice._

Making his way inside, duffel clutched tightly in his hand, he walked over to the first machine. As he grudgingly got to work, he couldn't help but look at the pile of grimy garments in his hands. His clothes and Sammy's clothes, matted together with shared blood, every one of them dark or black. Better to hide in the shadows, to disappear on the hunt, better to hide the blood and dirt from prying eyes, and luckily – could be piled in one wash load without sorting.

As the service began, he sat and watched the machine work; dissolving away the stains and filth, the clothes circling each other, spilling graveyard dirt, blood and sweat into the soapy water. Jeans and shirts, mixing and folding over themselves becoming a tangled mess of material – a tangled mess of trust and dependency and obligation, so knotted together, it was impossible to tell whose was whose. Which was his, and which was his brother's.

Just for a moment Dean cradled his head in both hands – this thinking was giving him a headache. How did Sammy do it? He dragged his mind kicking and screaming back from its wandering, and stretched his back, feeling his sinews pop. How many more times would he get to do this job anyway? How many times could you wash clothes in one year? And did it even matter?

What was coming would come – no one could stop it, and he would face it head on like he always did. And maybe even beat it, with the help of the freaky effects from the fire demon. He just needed to control them, because, whatever they were, they were making him stronger, and strength he could always use, despite what Sammy would think.

ooooo

Dean walked lazily back to the motel, not looking forward to the next few hours of trying to placate his brother's concerns. There had to be a way to convince Sam that these abilities were for the best, that they could be harnessed, used. The book may've been too dangerous a tool to have in their arsenal, but this was him. This was Dean. And he was no more dangerous now than he'd ever been, just a little more – _enhanced_, that's all. Approaching their motel room, he could just make out Sam's voice talking to someone in a low worried tone, a tone that usually meant trouble.

Pressing up against the door, the flecks of painted wood grinding sharply against his cheek, he closed his eyes. He could hear Sam's voice from inside and it was gradually growing stronger. Not louder but cleaner, crisper. And that wasn't all. If he concentrated real hard he could hear the other voice – the one belonging to whoever Sam was speaking to on the phone. And there was no way he should've been able to hear that, right? But he could.

He focused harder, bearing down with all his concentration, reaching out with his senses and trying to press inside the motel room. And then, suddenly, like the flick of a switch, the voices were all clarity.

"…I'm worried about him, Bobby…there are none of the classic signs but I think whatever was in that book…I think it's in him. I think he may be possessed..."

"Whatever it is, Sam, it sure ain't possession."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Cos I checked him out while you boys were staying here."

"You checked him out?…Bobby? You thought he was possessed? Why didn't you say something?"

"I just checked him out, Sam, cos I ain't stupid. That demon prison cell was powerful stuff, no telling what could have come out of that thing, and it had hold of your brother long enough to do some damage."

A pause.

"Bobby? Could you have missed something?"

"Well, if I did, can't think what that something could be. Holy water in his morning coffee, and devils trap drawn under his bed, hell…even seasoned his breakfast scramble with cubeb and fennel, but apart from making him think his eggs were bad there was never any reaction…not so much as a sneeze. Gotta admit though, he sure did heal fast…even for him"

"So, if it's not possession, then what could...?

"We'll figure it out, Sam, but right now we need to talk about something else. You boys got another problem…"

Bobby never got to finish, Sam butted in. "Bobby, I'll have to call you back."

Click – Silence.

Sam swung round at the sound of the door opening.

"Who was that on the phone, bro?" Dean pushed the door ajar and stood; looking accusingly at the phone in Sam's outstretched hand.

"Bobby. Just checking in, y'know; he worries." _'Just half a lie - just half'_. Sam's smile was way too wide, his eyes a little too fixed on his brother's. He knew he was doing a real bad job of lying but there was no way he could tell Dean what he suspected. If he was right it would tip his hand – give away the advantage, but if he was wrong…Dean had always found it hardest to forgive betrayal, and this, in Dean's eyes at least, would be the worse kind. The family kind. At that moment, Sam really wasn't sure which he would prefer.

Dean looked back at him coldly, appraising the situation before answering. "Yeah?…okay…whatever."

Dumping the bag of clean laundry on the floor by the door, he took off his jacket and walked into the bathroom closing the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of the tub, elbow propped on the small sink, he ran a sweating hand over his face, ending up squeezing the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb.

So, Bobby hadn't trusted him, had tricked him with holy water and cubeb, and thought he was healing way too fast, huh? Maybe he'd be happier if Dean was still on his death bed? Still sick to his stomach; rolling in searing white hot pain. And now, his own brother didn't trust him either. Well, that sure puts paid to trying to convince Sam that this was a good thing – looks like he's already made up his mind. Neither of them understood, but then how could they? He wasn't sure if he understood it either.

Well looks like whatever this thing was, he'd be dealing with it on his own – again.

ooooo

Bobby was not happy.

He'd kinda guessed that his phone call to Sam was cut short because Dean came back unexpectedly, and he could understand Sam not wanting to let his brother know he'd called the older man – that boy was way too suspicious as it was, no good would come from adding fuel to that particular fire. But he had things he needed to say to the Winchesters. Things he needed to say to Sam. Things that by all accounts might be better said in person rather than over the phone.

Now, he just needed a good excuse to pitch up on their doorstep. Sighing, he picked up his car keys, glad that he'd had the presence of mind to ask Sam where they were, and what they were doing. And even more glad that for once in their life, the Winchesters had no job on the go, or plans to up and disappear into the night.

ooooo

It took Bobby just under two hours to get to the motel and spot the familiar big black addition to the Winchester clan, parked outside. He glanced at his watch. 6:28 pm. Idly wondering if he should have bought food as a peace offering, he started to climb out of his truck just as he saw the boys walking along the sidewalk, heading his way. They spotted him easily, Sam giving a small wave as both men headed towards his truck.

Watching them walk was an eye opener. Sam was stepping a few paces behind his brother – clearly trying to disappear into the background. Trying to make himself small and inconsequential. It was almost laughable to see such a big man, trying to recreate himself into something so tiny. Dean on the other hand was bigger than life, and strutting down the sidewalk with a blank, unreadable expression on his face as he led the way. He always led the way.

"Well, Bobby, – what a surprise, haven't heard from you in what? Two hours?"

Bobby slammed the cab door, and stood blinking at Dean's sarcastic tone in amazement. He'd thought he'd seen every side of the older Winchester, been witnessed to almost every emotion Dean possessed, but this was new – this was John. "Got so many friends now, you throwing away the old ones, boy?"

Dean blanched slightly, looking anywhere but at the older man's face until Sam stepped in to the rescue. He pushed past his brother and slapped Bobby on the shoulder, genuinely pleased. "Good to see you, Bobby. Have you eaten yet?"

Bobby still hadn't taken his eyes off the older Winchester's face – he could have cut the atmosphere with a skinning knife.

He shook his head slowly. "Not yet, wanted to talk to you boys 'bout some help with a job."

Dean wasn't buying that for a second. "You need us? To help you, with a job?" All he could see when he looked at the older man was suspicion. Directed at him – he wasn't trusted. Since when do you pick someone you don't trust to watch your back on a job? No. He wasn't buying this shit for a second.

"That's why I'm here, Dean. Done all the real work just need some muscle. So why I came to you two ladies, I will never know." Bobby smirked, looking from one boy to the other. Sam grinned back – Dean didn't.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5 Watch the night go up in smoke

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 5 – Watch the night go up in smoke

The old homestead was all rough timber and peeling paintwork, and certainly didn't look like a property anyone would want to pay big bucks for or that would inspire renovation. But someone _had_ paid the big money – before realizing it actually needed a different kind of transformation all altogether. Bobby sat in the cab of his truck and pointed to the architects plans laid out on his lap. "There's three levels, all structurally sound, so shouldn't have any problems with falling through the floor – right, Dean?" He glanced sideways at the younger man sitting in the passenger seat.

"Thanks for reminding me." Dean suppressed a shudder. Even now, over two weeks on, he still had flashbacks of plummeting down through the floor of that chapel, and the cold dead eyes of the man who'd broken his fall. The bitter taste of guilt was still in the back of his throat.

"So, where do you want us to start?" Sam leaned forward from the back seat, watching over Bobby's shoulder. "Looking at your notes, focus seems to be in the attic bedroom."

"Ain't it always? Main party zone is the attic, sure, but there've been most sightings in the back room, there…the one leading off from the kitchen." He pointed to a small room on the ground floor, and then looked back at the house, standing stately and imposing in the dimming twilight. "So here's the plan, one of you boys comes with me and helps to perform the cleansing ritual in the attic and the other, covers the downstairs room where most of the real trouble's happened. Whole job should take an hour, tops."

He watched out of the corner of his eye as both Sam and Dean looked at each other warily. "Fight it out between you, I don't care who does what, so long as we get this show on the road." With that, Bobby climbed out of the cab and stretched, unwinding aching muscles.

He took a couple of steps in the direction of the house and listened to the boys argue the toss in the truck – he couldn't help but smile. _'Bobby, you sneaky son of a bitch – you ain't lost it yet._' The voices in the cab were getting heated but the older hunter knew exactly how this would pan out. There was no way Dean Winchester would let his brother take on the room where 'most of the real trouble' happened by himself, so as long as Bobby stuck to his guns, insisting on tackling the attic – he was guaranteed alone time to talk to Sam. 'That should just about do it.'

"Gonna be ready anytime today, ladies?" Bobby's call halted the argument in mid stride.

Climbing from the cab, Dean hoisted his shotgun and patted his pockets checking for ammo, just as Sam spilled out of the back wearing a look that could kill a spook at thirty paces; lips drawn together in a patented 'Sammy sulk'. Dean spoke, his tone making it abundantly clear there was no further room for discussion. "Sammy's going with you; I'm working the ground floor."

Bobby nodded. "Let's go then, sooner we start, sooner we're finished."

"Yeah, let's get this done. Sooner we finish, sooner you can get back home – get some well earned rest, huh, Bobby?"

Bobby threw a sharp look at Dean who returned it with a cool, hooded look of his own, before spinning, and leaving the other two men to follow him as he marched towards the building.

ooooo

The attic was a large empty space that had been mostly cleared for re-decoration. The paper on the walls hung in long tattered strips, making it look like the room had shed its skin, showing its bare wooden bones underneath. A long section of mottled flooring was visible where the carpet had been rolled away revealing a large, painted summoning sigil on the rough wood. It was an old design, hardly used anymore, but powerful. This had to be the main source of the problem but should be pretty straight forward to remove. Sam walked over to the full packing crates in the corner and started to lay out the necessary items they would need for the cleansing ritual as Bobby quietly closed the door behind them.

"Sam, we gotta talk about your brother." He spoke barely above a whisper, but the urgency in his voice was tangible.

Turning to face Bobby, Sam's face said what his voice couldn't. It showed his old friend the true sense of anguish that'd been slowly building ever since leaving the safety of the breakers yard. "Yeah, I kinda guessed that's why you're here."

"So, what exactly is going on with him? And, Sam, don't spare the details cos if Dean's gonna need help, we're all there is."

"How long have you got…" Sam stood shoulders hunched and forced forwards. He had the look of a man trying to make himself the smallest possible target for whatever the world chose to throw at him. "You already know about the healing, you spotted that yourself. Well it gets weirder. I caught him, here…" he pointed to his side "… with a shotgun round on the Eli Kane job. It bled enough to soak through his shirt and then the wound just disappeared. It just vanished, Bobby. What the hell do you make of that?"

The older hunter shook his head, not sure of what to think. "What did Dean say about it?"

"He doesn't know I saw, and right now I don't want him to know, not until I can figure this out." Sam started to walk around the sigil as he spoke, laying salt and candles in the required places. "He's also got this crazy amount of energy, and a huge appetite, like he's burning fuel faster than he can shovel it in." Sam stopped what he was doing and turned, looking at Bobby in earnest. "That's not the worst though, he has these…'episodes'… when he's not really there, like he's gone somewhere…but left his body behind. I don't know what to make of it, and he won't talk – no surprise there. He's even more closed off, you know?...Guarded."

"Well it's pretty damned clear I'm making him pissed just by breathing, ain't felt this unwelcome by a Winchester since your daddy." Bobby tried to smile but the gesture was wasted on the younger man. "Still think he's possessed?"

Sam looked at the floor. "No, not after what you told me on the phone, but I can't think what else it could be – and I don't know what to do?"

Bobby sat heavily on one of the packing crates in the corner and sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Sam, is there anything else at all? Anything you can think of – it could be important." He thought hard for a moment about exactly how much to tell the younger man. He shouldn't tell him everything, not yet, not until he knew for sure – there was no use in freaking him out until he knew for certain.

"Isn't that enough?" Sam held a searching look in his eyes as he walked towards Bobby. "You know something, don't you. What is it you're not telling me?"

"Sam…."

"Don't give me that crap; if you know something that affects Dean, you'd better spill, Bobby."

The older man sighed again, looking at Sam's stare. If looks could kill, Bobby Singer would be dead, buried, dug back up and salted n' burned by now.

"We ain't the only ones who've noticed something being up with your brother, Sam. I had a call from an old friend. Someone I ain't heard from in a long time, and he told me…someone's on your brother's tail. Someone you really don't want to be throwing down with."

"Who are we talking about here?"

"Hunter. Vengeful bastard name of Stanley Cobb, ever heard of him?"

Sam shook his head, feeling overwhelmed. _Who the hell was Stanley Cobb?_ As if they hadn't got enough shit happening; now there was someone new jumping into the mix.

"Bobby, you'd better tell me what you know, cos I swear…I feel like wreaking some vengeance of my own right now."

ooooo

Dean had prowled the small kitchen and parlour room for long enough to be thoroughly bored.

This sucked out loud, and if it'd been anyone but Bobby Singer asking for help, he'd have told them where to go, and drawn a road map himself showing them how to get there. But there was no one nearer to being part of the Winchester family than Bobby.

He knew he'd upset the older man, but he also knew he'd no intention of adding regret to the never ending list of emotions he was feeling these days. Bobby had brought it on himself, once you lose the trust, there's nothing left. If he didn't trust Dean anymore then why was he wasting his and everyone else's damned time?

Turning on the spot Dean made up his mind. He would march right up those stairs and have it out with both of them right here and now – Bobby, for losing the trust, and Sammy…well for…well…well for…Dean couldn't think of a single thing to admonish his brother for. Sammy had only been doing what he would do if the positions were reversed. 'Yeap, this sucks out loud.'

ooooo

_The creature awoke and stretched, still too weak and new to take advantage._

_No sight or voice yet – but it needed none. There was no desire to communicate. Only desire. To live. To be strong._

_Flexing…it subtly tested the boundaries of this new home, feeding on whatever it found there – and it found so very much. Guilt…doubts…need…a three course meal of emotional turmoil like no other, and it tasted sticky sweet. It expanded, strengthening, slowly filling every inch with its own essence, gently moulding into every dark corner and hidden depth. Finding deceptive and unnoticed ways to breach the layers of protection it encountered along the way. _

_Those walled off areas becoming its play pen, its training ground, and it was a good student._

ooooo

Dean shivered as he walked back through the kitchen into the small parlour room and perched on a corner table staring at the floor, shotgun hanging limply by his side.

Storming up the stairs would serve no purpose – probably just make Bobby think he'd lost it even more, and he didn't think he could cope with Sam doing 'sad and confused' right now. He rubbed at his short hair and tried to make sense of the black hole he found himself sinking into. He had to get Bobby to go home. If Bobby wasn't there he could concentrate on getting back to normal. On being himself again. Just him and Sam. Maybe he could find something if he researched the side effects of demonic possession? But he hadn't been possessed, he was sure of that – wasn't he? Maybe he could see if this'd ever happened to anyone else before? Find out how they dealt? Shouldn't be so hard, Sam found stuff out pretty damned quick, and if he could do it …

He was still focusing on a small stain on the floor when the spirit launched its attack.

Icy fingers ripped Dean from his seat and threw him at the floor, sending his shotgun rolling across the floorboards and making his teeth shake with the force of the impact. The cold rush of air swirled around his face, stinging its way along his skin and into his eyes. Temporarily blinded and weapon less he clambered to his knees just in time to be slammed in the side by the table he'd been sitting on. Flying sideways, landing on his belly, Dean found that for once, luck was on his side as his fingers made contact with the cold metal of the shotgun's barrel. Scrambling towards the weapon, he fumbled it once before gripping the butt and getting to his feet – spinning and aiming in one deft move.

The hot spray of buckshot and salt exploded from the gun but missed its mark, as the weapon was pulled from his hands and once again rattled to the floor, landing at the spirit's transparent feet. He felt the icy cold presence rolling around him, close enough to touch, taunting as though he was nothing more than a plaything.

Dean didn't move, couldn't move. Every fibre of his being begged him to run, to get the hell away, to duck and avoid and escape. But he wasn't the one in charge anymore. Something primordial had taken hold – had woken up, and it _did_ want to play. He looked at the raging spirit in front of him with stinging eyes, and felt a single tear slide down his face. Then, he felt that tear hiss as it evaporated before ever reaching his chin. The hairs on his head and body vibrated with heat and power belonging to the thing surging within him, making his scalp itch and his skin crawl. But that was nothing compared to the feeling of horror coursing through his veins.

Never had Dean felt so powerless. His body was no longer his to control, it had been taken over, usurped, and there was nothing he could do about it except cry out in terror. And even then, it crawled into his mind, whispering soothing words of comfort, like those of a mother to an injured child. Calming him, reassuring him, encouraging him to open further and accept the intrusion.

Dean felt his arms lift away from his body, stretching out to the sides, coming to rest palms up in the same grotesque parody of a crucifix he'd seen from Warminger and the memory sent a new wave of raw panic coursing through him, causing him to shudder violently, but it made no difference.

_Until something else stirred even deeper than the invading spawn_. Something of his essence, that held him rigid and strong. Something that was pure Dean Winchester and had been there all the time – had just been forgotten for a while. Suddenly, he knew beyond all doubt that he could fight, and he could win. He was not helpless.

The spirit was still there, drifting over the downed shotgun as though it'd earned its trophy, watching Dean through blackened, curdled eyes. And he watched it right back.

In that one single moment, he was connected and in touch with everything; the floating spirit, the power surging through him, the raging heat of his own body and now, two scared voices almost in the distance, behind layer upon layer of more important concerns. He could hear the shouted words of fear and warning, but couldn't be bothered with them. They were unimportant and he was beyond that now.

As if sensing its own demise, the spirit made a screeching lunge towards Dean, but before it could get close enough to make contact, an unnatural white glow erupted from the hunter's body, engulfing both man and spirit in a blinding explosion of light.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6 From the inside out

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 6 – From the inside out

Bobby made a grab for Sam's jacket as the younger man thundered past him on the stairs, although he didn't have a hope in hell of keeping him there. Both men had heard the gunshot and had come running, just in time to see Dean face off against the spirit; extending his arms and shuddering, as a dazzling display of white light erupted around him.

And Sam had no intention of waiting to be invited to this shindig. Shouting as he ran, he reached the ground floor and lunged for his brother through the blinding glare, gripping his outstretched arm and pulling sharply, causing the older man to topple and land on top of him. It was only then, that the engulfing aura of light extinguished and the walls in front of them exploded into flame, sending a cascade of shards and splinters in every direction.

Sam threw himself over Dean, covering his brother's head and body with his own until the flying debris settled. The whole kitchen was erupting like and ungodly furnace, catching way too fast to be just a house fire, the room filling with acrid black smoke and the crackling roar of devoured wood. Sam twisted and saw Bobby's hand reaching as the older man grabbed both boys and propelled them through the kitchen doorway, just in time to avoid a hail of fiery embers and electrical sparks that were joining in with this Winchester barbecue.

Singer didn't stop to think. He dragged them both away, Sam by the arm, Dean by the scruff of the collar, finding a strength he didn't know he possessed to save the two boys he'd adopted as his own. He didn't let up until they'd stumbled out of the danger zone and were almost back to the truck. Only then did he allow himself the indulgence of looking over the two boys.

His eyes fell on Sam first, bent over double and coughing hard, bringing up blackened sputum as he wiped at the dirt and ash on his face. But he was alive, breathing and only scorched round the edges. He'd live…and then he looked at Dean. The older Winchester was just standing, panting with a hoarse wheeze, looking like he'd been pulled through a hedge backwards – and completely hypnotised by the roaring flames erupting from the slowly dying building. Bobby didn't dare look over his shoulder at the house that was holding Dean's attention and he didn't need to, he could smell the sour ash and hear the building's death rattle as parts of it caved in.

Reaching up, Bobby cradled Dean's face in his hands, dragging his head round and away from the capturing image. "What the hell happened in there, Dean?"

The oldest Winchester said nothing, the look on his face expressing more than mere words could. His eyes were transfixed on that burning house, the splintering wood and crumbling walls somehow feeding him, giving him strength. Bobby stared at him, watching the dancing red reflection in his eyes, the look of all consuming hunger on his face; and he realised in that moment – that he may be too late already.

"Sam, we need to get your brother away from here."

Bobby climbed into the driver's seat as Sam manoeuvred his brother into the back, keeping one hand on his arm, not sure which of them was being reassured by the slight contact. As Bobby pulled away he couldn't help but look in the mirror at the two boys…and he had to look again – just to be sure. He hadn't been seeing things…there was a small ring of amber and red in Dean's eyes. And he knew then, that he was going to have to tell Sam everything. He was going to have to tell him soon, and it was going to be bad.

As he steered the truck away, he shot one last worried glance at the burning remains of the house in the distance and sighed. He had no idea how he was going to explain this one. God, he hoped the new owners had good insurance.

ooooo

_It rested, content in the knowledge of its own ability. Understanding its own strengths and dismissive of its meagre weakness, it lay fallow, preparing, growing…becoming stronger and more resilient with every passing moment. _

_It picked away at the disturbed psyche, planting new doubts and stirring old memories, enjoying the turmoil it created. And all the time, waiting for the next opportunity to prove its superiority. _

_And when that time came, it would be ready._

ooooo

The Coldbright Tavern had been chosen for its remoteness, and for the sawdust on the floor and the lack of any visible homely comfort. No-one would venture here for a nice night out; this place was reserved for those who needed to sink into their alcoholic stupor by themselves.

Stanley Cobb sat alone at the furthest back table in the dingy saloon, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt, he wouldn't be disturbed. He'd been able to manifest an aura of intimidation and solitude since his early teens, and it had always served him well. It was rare for him to venture out into a bar, he usually preferred to drink alone and in the comfort of his own place, but today he felt like celebrating.

The job, the one woven into his nightmares for too many years, was now coming to a close, and he could feel the end, could taste it as sure as the whisky in his glass. And like the whisky it would be bitter and smooth, all at the same time. He looked at the shot and rolled the small glass between his finger and thumb. How easy would it be just to squeeze, to break the thin transparent armour, to shatter that barrier and watch as the warm amber fluid dribble out? He could see it in his mind's eye, slowly soaking into the wood grain, a testament to his supremacy and a warning to the next insignificant hotshot upstart, who thought he could get the better of Stanley Cobb.

'To the next Dean Winchester'. Stanley lifted the glass to dry lips and swallowed.

He refilled quickly from the square bottle on the table and was just considering treating himself to a draught when his hired muscle arrived. Kyle sauntered to the table slowly, with the overconfident swagger of a man too damned sure of himself, and sat in the opposite seat. Cobb leaned back in his chair and nodded to the bottle but Kyle shook his head. "You wanted to see me?"

"Took your sweet time."

"Didn't know I was on the clock."

"Working for me you're always on the clock."

Kyle nearly succumbed to the verbal sparring but held his tongue, he wasn't some scared flunky and he was no fool. Stanley Cobb might be sitting here in a public place but he was still a live grenade, just waiting for someone to pull his pin. And right now he held all the cards. Kyle had a feeling from the start that there was information they hadn't been given, and he was hoping this meeting would be a revelation. So he sat in silence, waiting.

Stanley leaned forward; both elbows planted on the small table and arched his brows. "I'm assuming that you've guessed there's a little more to this job than meets the eye, Kyle…something a little 'other' than human."

Well now – he'd been starting to feel this job going sideways but if they were dealing with something other than human – then they were talking about opportunity knocking on the door, and he was just the man to tilt his hat in welcome. "This was never just another job, was it Cobb...and I have the feeling you have one or two more requests you would like to make of me."

Stanley kept his head angled low but looked up under malevolent brows. "Knew you'd end up the leader of this little party…Kyle...I could just tell."

The sight of Stanley Cobb smiling was not something he ever wanted to see again. How anyone could contort their face to show that much distaste and vengeance interlaced with such a pleasant expression was beyond him. But now that he had the leverage to renegotiate his wage, it was amazing what he was prepared to put up with. "Then I guess you'd better fill me in on the more, 'other than human' details hadn't you."

ooooo

Bobby led the way as they walked into the motel room, turning to face the older Winchester as soon as he was through the door. "So, Dean, any ideas about how that fire might have got started?"

Dean was tired, exhausted, and couldn't help sounding dismissive. "Faulty wiring, maybe a gas cylinder in the kitchen got damaged when I shot that bitch, how the hell should I know, Bobby?"

The pale blue comforter on the nearest bed caught his eye and he sighed. All he wanted to do was sink down onto that bed, and sleep until his year was up. He was drained – used up. Whatever had happened in that house was beyond him, all he knew for certain was, it had emptied him out. Deep down he knew he wasn't going to be able to fix this by himself, but that stubborn Winchester streak was rearing its ugly head, making asking for help about as likely as Dean Winchester entering the priesthood. He tried to force a smile…to look like he was still in control…but he knew he wasn't fooling anyone.

He'd seen that look on Bobby's face before too, it was a look he'd tried hard to forget, one that still woke him up at night with cold sweat drying on his skin. Bobby had looked at Sam like that, the day he'd come back. The day Dean had brought him back. The day both brothers had walked into Bobby's small house like butter wouldn't melt, and shook the older hunter to his very core.

"Take an educated guess, Dean, what do you_ think_ happened?" Bobby spoke slow and precise, his gaze holding that same deep suspicion, but Dean didn't answer, he couldn't answer.

Instead he rolled his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels and back, throwing out a hand to steady himself against the wall. Sam immediately saw his brothers' eyes losing focus and stepped forward, the slight crease between his brows deepening with every step. "Dean? You okay?"

"Sure, m'fine, just…bit tired, light-headed is all."

Dean straightened, gave a shrug, and sniffed, giving Sam his 'just get off my back' look that was just as familiar to Bobby. Maybe this could wait, the kid sure looked like he needed some rest and maybe after some sleep he'd be more likely to listen to reason.

"Sam, why don't you get cleaned up and get some java on the go...and Dean – you don't look so good; think you should sit down before you fall down. Don't want to mess up the place…we'll talk later, after you get some rest."

"Hmm." Dean nodded in agreement and started to turn, letting go of the steadying influence of the wall...and immediately pitched forward, watching in slow motion as the multicoloured carpet came up to meet his face.

Sam watched his brother fold gracelessly, and barely managed to reach out and grab him, fisting a hand in his jacket and lowering his body gently to the floor. He'd been almost expecting this. He'd seen Dean hit his own personal threshold many times, just as many times as he'd seen him push through it, and he knew what it looked like better than anyone. "Bobby, help me."

He needn't have asked; the older man was already there.

Helping Sam to roll his brother onto his side, he took a good look at the unconscious Winchester, cupping his cheek, about to lift one heavy eyelid – but pulled his hand away like he'd been bitten, as he felt a burning heat blasting off the stricken man's skin…an incandescent, unnatural heat. Dean was burning up, and not figuratively. He was actually burning, his skin taking on a transparent amber glow, radiating from every inch of exposed flesh. Bobby could almost see the drops of sweat, rise and bead, working their way out from his pores, and Sam couldn't help but hiss as the gradually building heat scorched through the thin layer of Dean's cotton shirt, burning his fingers where they came into contact with his skin.

Holding his brother as tight as he could stand, Sam looked up into Bobby's face, searching for any hint of an explanation, but all he could see was confusion, and that was the scariest thing of all.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7 Knowledge may be power but

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 7 – Knowledge may be power but…

"Sam, we gotta get him cooled down – right now. Get him in the bathroom, move it."

Bobby ran into the small room, plugging the tub and calling to Sam over his shoulder as he went. God damn it, he should have seen this coming. Why in hell hadn't he seen this coming? Starting the cold water flowing on full, he ran back to help strip off Dean's boots and jacket. This was taking way too long; the unrelenting heat increasing by the second. Not bothering with the rest of his clothes, Sam hoisted his brother in front of his chest and backed into the small room, dragging his boneless legs along the floor, ignoring the scorching sting where their skins made contact.

The tub was small and narrow, barely big enough for one, let alone two fully grown men, but Sam climbed into the tight space as Bobby lifted heavy, dead legs over the edge.

The instant Dean's body touched the water, the convulsions started. His back arched up with an awkward twisting tension, and he fought in his brother's embrace like his sanity depended on it. Kicking and punching out in a desperate attempt to get free, he thrashed wildly at the clammy cold that swamped him, catching Sam at least once with a sharp elbow. In his mind this was not cold water. It was a blue, frozen, arctic wasteland. And it surrounded him, trapped him; pulled him down and squeezed him hard, driving the breath from his lungs. He was being pressed into living, suffocating ice that wanted nothing more than to engulf and destroy him.

Bobby watched the struggle as the water hissed and misted its way over Dean's overheated skin, soaking his shirt and pants, making the material slick and hard to hold. But Sam couldn't have cared less. All he wanted was for his brother to be his brother again. He didn't look at Bobby but held Dean tight in the water, one palm pressed to his forehead, the other round his chest, trying to subdue with gentle words of comfort. Those same words he remembered his big brother whispering to him years before. Over and over Sam whispered, and gradually those words took effect…calming…quietening…easing away the panic.

It took half an hour for the convulsions to stop. Thirty minutes of both brothers, up to their necks in ice cold water, till Dean began to softly shiver, and Sam felt he could ease his grip just a little – and he would too, as soon as he could get his numb fingers to follow the order.

As he hugged Dean under the freezing water, Sam felt him shift his head just a little. His eyes opened slowly, his scrunched face showing nothing but confusion as the thin slice of green under greying lids swept the room. Dean took in the worried look on Bobby's face, the cold water lapping at his clothes and the body behind him, holding tight and whispering, and he shut his eyes again – tight. Was there anything on this miserable planet more degrading than being cuddled by your kid brother in a bath full of cold water, while the nearest other person you have to family watches on?

No. He didn't think so. He felt Sam tighten his grip again as Dean tried to move. "Jeez…fre…kn…crp…Smm…y…"

Bobby tried to sound hardened but he couldn't help the ferocious smile creeping over his face. "Real nice mouth you got on you, Winchester." He leaned in, wiping the water droplets from Dean's jaw. "Soap's just there, y'know – could easily wash that out for you while we're here."

ooooo

_It shrank back, retreating, seeking safety in those familiar, dark, cosy places. There was warmth there, and the promise of anguish, and pain, and guilt. Emotional sustenance in abundance. It knew it had been mistaken…had taken too big a step too soon, and now it was being beaten back by something unexpected. Now it was paying the price, being punished for naivety and keenness. _

_That mistake would not be repeated. _

_The cold had been annoying and painful, sucking away its zeal, but it could survive the cold…the cold hadn't caused its retreat. The enforced withdrawal had been prompted by something all together more damaging. Those words, the ones whispered by another in its ear had woken something else. Something long since buried and all but forgotten; only ever surfacing in those rare times of truest need._

_And it had felt it once before. _

_Something fundamental to the host, with innate strength of will and inherent spirit. Something that would have to be destroyed._

_Now it rested, thoughtful in the knowledge that it would have to fight for its existence…and next time it would be more prepared. _

ooooo

Dean laid on the bed furthest from the motel door under just a sheet, the crisp material showing the slow rise and fall of his chest and the occasional shiver. Bobby gently wiped his skin, feeling the warmth on his hand, nothing worse that a low grade temperature. The boy had fallen into a deep sleep the second his head hit the pillow, face turned away, eyes not even moving under heavy lids. But he was cooler, dry, and for the moment at least, he was safe, and Bobby was enough of an old fashioned gent to thank God for small mercies, especially seeing as he never seemed to get any big ones.

"Super fast healing or not, can't see him waking up anytime soon, and I recon that's for the best. Gonna need to keep an eye on him – and you and me, we need to talk some more." Bobby moved to the other side of the room and sat on the bed watching the two boys.

Sam had stationed himself on a small wooden chair pulled up close to Dean's bed with no intention of moving from his brother's side. "So, is this the demon from the book? The one that took Warminger?"

"If it was, he'd be dead already. Besides, that one's in the book; we put it back where it belongs."

"So what then? Some kind of side effect? Maybe something else came out of that book at the same time?"

Bobby slowly shook his head. "Do have a theory, if you want to hear it."

"Right now I'll take anything on offer. What you got?"

Bobby leaned forward, trying to figure the best way to start, resting elbows on his knees as he spoke. "That book was a prison, Sam, and an ancient one. There's no telling for sure exactly what…or how many were in there…but, whatever they were, they've been left to rot for centuries. Can't think whatever went in, would come out the same. But there are accounts if you know where to look." He paused, shifting uncomfortably on the thin mattress.

"And, well, I guess I knew where to look… There are writings detailing the most ancient demons, Sam, and they had abilities… to pass on part of their essence, almost like a way to reproduce…what they'd do is leave a small part of them behind, and that small part would grow and take over from the inside out. Most of the time the poor bastard wouldn't even know something was wrong, until it was too late."

Sam's eyes dropped to the bed, the blood leaching from his face. "You think that's what's happening to Dean?"

"I think we gotta look at every possibility here, Sam. That book was the first ever devils trap. What do you think was in it? We're talking the first ever demons here. The very first ones to drag their sorry asses out from the pit, kicking and spitting and burning their way across the earth. These are primordial evil, Sam, not just some lackey who's taken over some poor bastard's meat suit for a shift till someone sends them back where they came from."

"OKAY, Bobby, I get the picture." Sam swallowed thickly, downing the rising bile. "So how do we get rid of it? Exorcism?"

"I guess."

"You guess? You mean you figured out all the bad stuff, but didn't bother to read the last chapter?"

Sam's voice was wavering and Bobby couldn't blame him for losing it. Hell, he was close to losing it himself. "Sam, believe it or not, I'm on this. This demon wants your brother?...well it's gonna have to go through me first, and I'm guessing through you too…only, better make sure he's still sleeping, cos he's gonna be mighty pissed when he wakes up and finds us fighting his battles for him."

The tension eased slightly, and Sam couldn't help but smile, even though it was a half emotion. "So how's Stanley Cobb fit into all this? What does he want?"

Bobby's look darkened. "Don't know what he wants, but you'd better believe me when I tell you, everything to do with Cobb ends bad. If he's fixing your brother in his sights, we need to figure out why and we gotta deal with it."

"Sounds like you know him pretty well. You two friends?"

"Cobb ain't got friends. Used to know his partner in crime though, Jacob Hearne, they were like brothers…pretty inseparable, working jobs together. I knew Jacob before he ever met Stanley. Those two were like minded – both mean son's of bitches, and once they got together, well…nothing was sacred. Both had their own obsessions, but they fed off each other. Partnership made in the pit if you ask me. Jacob's obsession was the book…he knew everything there was to know about that damned thing. He tracked it down and planned to steal it. Only reason I even knew was I got asked if I wanted to join the raiding party, but not my type of job."

"So, he stole it?"

"No, he didn't get a chance. He disappeared…dropped off the face of the planet. Didn't figure out what happened until much later." He glanced up and felt the younger man's stare bore through him. And he felt for him, this bit was gonna be hard to hear. Hell, it was gonna be hard to say, too.

"About a year after Jacob vanished, your daddy got hurt, sliced up good on a black dog hunt, your brother didn't know what to do so he brought him to me for help. John was delirious for near forty-eight hours…he ranted about a lot of things that night…whole load of nonsense…" Bobby looked at the floor and sighed losing himself in the memory for the briefest moment. "…but one thing he said I did believe, and I will never forget. He said he'd put an end to Jacob Hearn because of what he'd planned to do to his boy – to Dean."

Sam sat straighter in his chair at the mention of his brother's name. "And what was that exactly?"

The older man paused, but only for a second. "He was going to let the demon take him…was gonna feed him to it. Needed someone strong to be possessed, so he could cut that bitch down and end it once and for all. He chose your brother. It was his last mistake in a lifetime full of them."

Scrambling to process this horror story, Sam's voice was faint. "Then you believed dad when he said he'd killed Jacob, even though he was delirious?"

Bobby looked solemn. "I knew Jacob, Sam. He disappeared just days after I told your daddy about the plan. Now, that Jacob, he was a cold-blooded, ruthless son of a bitch who had no love for anyone or anything, and in all my time, I probably only met one man who could have bested him – and I think he did."

The silence hung in the air as the two men sat with their own thoughts. Until Bobby let out a heavy sigh. "Next question is…what the hell's going on with Cobb? It's just too much of a coincidence, Sam, two weeks after that book rears its ugly skin, and Jacobs's old partner is breathing down Dean's neck? He's gotta think Dean's got the book. And I don't want to guess at what he'll do when he finds out he hasn't."

ooooo

Dean drifted, but there was no sea of flame this time, nothing inviting or serene. There was just a wasteland. One of epic proportion – stretching out as far as the eye could see into the distance. A harsh dust filled gulf, empty of anything familiar or good. He stared into the grey void as the howling wind whipped his skin. He was wrong – there was something else here. There was the devastating solitude that came with knowing he was completely and utterly alone, and always would be. He looked down at the rough ground, dry and cracked like crazed ceramic, sprinkled with coarse yellow sand and grey ash. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, pale shape in the twilight, quietly standing, watching him through large green eyes – a child, little and innocent, barely old enough to walk.

The boy looked at the man and the man looked at the boy.

Dean dropped to his knees, coming face to face with the child and studied him. He knew that face, every inch of puppy fat and small twitch of expression. He knew those eyes, but hadn't seen them for a lifetime. This boy was him, was the Dean Winchester that never had life; this was the part of him that'd been taken by the same fire that took his mother's love from the world – and his father's passion from his family. Emotions swamped him; the sorrowful memory of a lost childhood, of a misplaced family, the pressing responsibility of having spent his whole life trying, and failing to make up for it. And he sobbed, shedding the tears of abandonment and rejection and neglect, each one soaked up by the parched ground, each one taken and consumed by the wasteland.

The child made no sound, just looked wide-eyed and curious as he wrinkled his nose and grinned. Then he launched himself at the trembling man, throwing thin, cold arms around Dean's neck in a desperate hug, pushing him off balance and onto the dusty ground. As he held the child that was himself in a tight grip, he felt the tug of something distant and knew the outside world was summoning him back, knew this was all the dreaming and ramblings of an unconscious mind – and that's all it was…

TBC


	8. Chapter 8 Balls of steel

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 8 – …balls of steel will take you places

Bobby sat in his truck just outside the open all hour's store, watching the dull blue phosphorous from the shop sign ooze into the night; and spent the few empty minutes he had left considering his options. They were gonna need supplies, lots of supplies, and for who knows how long? He examined the crumpled list he'd made earlier, squinting as the small oasis of yellow cast by his flashlight picked up his scrawl. Most of the more obscure items they'd need for this exorcism he carried in his truck. Always be prepared for the worst…that was the first lesson he'd taught John if he remembered rightly. And it might just be an idea to drop into a drug store come morning, replenish the first aid box while he thought of it. After all, could never have too many sutures in your kit especially if a Winchester were involved.

Throwing an expectant glance at his watch, he fished out his phone. It was exactly one am – and, right on cue, it vibrated softly in his hand.

Bobby scanned the area wearily as the call connected. "On time as always. Well? What you got for me?"

The small voice was metallic, but clear enough. "You're not gonna like it."

"Knew that already…just spill."

There was a brief pause and a breath of resignation before the caller continued. "We're to wait till we can get him alone, then we're meant to pick him up, take him to a lake house about an hour's drive north of here. If you want my advice…don't let him out of your sight, cos Cobb sure ain't. He's had one of us tailing him in shifts for the best part of two days now."

"So, what's Cobb got in mind for him? You found out yet?"

"Nah, he's keeping it close to his chest. Not sure if he trusts anyone, or if the others are in his confidence…don't think they are, but…can't be sure."

Bobby took a deep breath; he'd been hoping for more, a lot more, but at least they had a location. "Can you send me the co-ordinates of this lakeside place? May need to know if things up and go sideways…and…don't go taking any chances, you hear me?"

"I hear you, old man, and I ain't known for being reckless, but I got a feeling we may all have to take some chances before this thing's over with." The caller paused. "Bobby…How much have you told them…about me…I mean?"

"Nothing yet…just like you wanted, although I still can't see why…they ain't John. You could do a whole lot worse than to talk to them boys' y'know. Might just put some other demons to rest, if y'know what I mean…maybe when all this is over…?"

The caller interrupted him, the voice tinged with a smile. "Hah, never had you pegged as a sentimental type, Bo."

"Must be getting soft in my old age."

"Singer…you'll be soft the same day I take to wearing pantyhose and an Easter bonnet when I'm hunting."

Bobby had to work hard to hold his own grin in check as he spoke. "I'm out getting provisions right now, and then we're holing up for the duration, keep in touch…and…watch your back."

He heard the small grunt that sounded like 'always' before the caller hung up, and he stashed his own phone back in his pocket. He had to get this done quick, not letting Dean out of his sight had been good advice and he intended to act on it.

ooooo

Sam was getting nowhere fast. He'd been researching for hours, on every site he could think of, and one or two that normally he wouldn't have touched had his life depended on it, - except it wasn't his life, it was Dean's and it was cut way too short already. So he looked and read and digested every account, every theory and every crazy ramble he could get his hands on, ignoring his natural scepticism and pushing on into the realms of the desperate. The room was quiet and dim, the only light shining out from his laptop, the only noise, the tapping of his fingers on the keys and his gentle sighs of frustration. He looked up, silently checking the still figure under the sheets for the umpteenth time, before returning his focus to the page. And that's what he was doing when he heard his brother's voice, quiet but firm.

"Sam?"

"Hey. Good to see you awake, dude." Sam stood up and smiled as he switched on the tall lamp by the door, the slight glow hooded by the dingy shade. Then he ambled over to the chair and sat by the bed, watching his brother slowly returning to the land of the living.

Dean blinked as the extra light stung his eyes. "What happened?"

"That's a good question; I'm trying to find out, but it's a little like looking for a needle in a bucket of needles. How you feeling? At least you don't look like you're sweating enough to soak the sheets anymore, and that's gotta be good, right?"

Dean just staredblankly at himbefore slowly pushing up to his elbows…but Sam was on his feet and moving round the bed before he could do much else. "Dude, take it easy. What are you doing? You're meant to be resting. Look…Bobby will be back in an hour or two and you can get up then okay?"

As Dean noticed Bobby's absence he felt a definite and unsettling surge of pleasure. That just wasn't right…but he couldn't put his finger on exactly why. He liked Bobby, the old man had been one of the few constants in his life, so why was he so happy to see him gone? He couldn't make any sense of it. He rubbed at his sore scalp as though the friction might force some reason into his brain. Then…gradually…the bare bones of a memory, and suddenly a myriad of images flooded through his head. The look on Bobby face as he stood staring, accusing…the look in Sam's eyes as he watched, condemning, neither of them trusting him. Neither of them having any faith in him – he was lost to them.

'Lost to them?' Dean pressed both eyes with his palm heels in misery while inside his head, the distant voice murmured – but they weren't his words he was hearing, they'd never been his words. And they certainly weren't his feelings. He couldn't believe the stupidity of what he was listening to in his own mind. Sam didn't trust him? Since when? And as for Bobby...there'd never been a time in his life when he hadn't been able to rely on Bobby Singer, so where the hell was this coming from? It made no sense, no sense at all. He knew Sam was standing by the foot of the bed but couldn't bring himself to look him in the face.

_And the voice continued, slow and melodious, providing a mantra in the confusion, a fragile island of sanity in a uninviting sea of disorder '… don't trust you…have never trusted you… have lied to you… they have always lied to you…you are weak…you are broken…'_

Then Sam's voice joined with the other in his head. "Look, just take it easy; Dean, Bobby will be back before you know it…we'll sort this out, dude, I promise."

ooooo

_The creature pulsed and writhed at Sam's words, twisting the feeling of relief and hope that the older man's name inspired, into something altogether darker. Controlling the truth, it planted memories of rejection and betrayal, events that had never happened but were blurry enough to be convincing, weaving them into the fabric of its lies and accusations. _

_It pushed onward after sensing the first glimmers of uncertainty. Feeling the unease, it uncoiled and extended one thin sinewy arm out into the dark, into the void, and spoke in whispers – gentle words of encouragement, and gentle lies and manipulations. It knew how to get what it wanted, knew how to control and influence and when that failed, it knew how to force. _

_But for now, it bargained. It gave strength, and healed outer wounds while all the while causing new inner ones. Finding its way, it tasted, tested, invaded…and grew._

ooooo

Dean could feel his brother's eyes burning into him, could feel the intense scrutiny and he hated it. He loathed it with every fibre of his being. He was being weighed and measured, and he was being found wanting. Scrunching his eyes he breathed in, cool air expanding and filling his lungs; but it did nothing to halt the black cloud that was settling over him. He felt like something had fractured and leaked out, filling his mind with a darkness that could never be washed away. The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to leave…now. Gathering the sheet around his body, he stood, feeling strangely alert – feeling strong.

Sam watched his brother move and started to get that feeling again, the one that he always got when he just knew Dean was about to do something monumentally stupid. He held up both hands in a consolatory gesture as he spoke, trying not to look anxious. "Dean, please wait. At least sit back down and wait for Bobby, he'll know what to do."

Focussing on Sam's outstretched hands …_at his attempt at deception_; Dean still couldn't bring himself to look at him directly. Yeah, Bobby would know what to do all right. If he'd ever needed motivation – that was it. Couldn't afford to wait till Singer got back – had to go now.

"Feeling fine, Sam, need the bathroom." As he passed the duffel on the floor he stooped and gathered his clothes, not once turning to look at his bemused brother before disappearing into the other room.

Sam brushed a hand through his hair, sweeping it back from his face, his mind racing as he stared at the door separating them. He knew about the effects of the weird shit happening to Dean, courtesy of Bobby and his research, but now that he was faced with it, he felt oddly out of his depth. Dean looked way too healthy for someone who just a few hours ago had been a human furnace, and since when did he call him 'Sam' anyway. Only when he was pissed, that's when, but he wasn't acting angry, _wasn't acting like Dean_. Looking around the small room he spied the phone tucked away next to his illuminated laptop and grabbed it, glad to have Bobby on speed dial.

ooooo

Bobby picked up on he second ring. He knew it was Sam as soon as the number flashed up on screen, and he also knew that if he was phoning…well…it sure as hell wasn't to add to the grocery list. "Sam?"

"Umm, Bobby, how long are you gonna be?"

"Hour tops, why? What's going on…Dean awake?"

"Oh, he's awake all right. He's up and he's pissed and he's kinda…stomping around…"

"Stay with him, Sam, whatever you do don't let him leave that room, I'm on my way back now."

Bobby hung up sharply, not giving Sam the chance to reply. He dumped the basket of groceries in the aisle where he stood and stomped out of the shop, breaking into a run as he made his way back into the night and to the truck. Their time was running out…and way faster than he'd expected.

ooooo

Dropping his clothes on the floor and standing in front of the small sink, Dean watched his fingers trying to bore into the hard porcelain. His head hung low but his eyes were wide and starring. As he raised his line of sight, he slowly took in every tiny detail of each surface. The lime scale collecting round the plug…the cracks in the off white tiles…the slow silver dribble of condensation dancing down the surface of the scratched mirror…and the small but now ever present amber, circling in his eyes…the truth hit him square in the chest.

Oh Jeez, oh no…nonono, this could _not_ be happening, he had _not_ been possessed, he _KNEW_ that, right? Well then? What the freaking hell was this? He opened his mouth, about to shout out, to call to Sam…about to…to do something…but…couldn't think what? All of sudden the need to speak was gone…vanished along with the creeping icy fear and dread, leaving just emptiness.

His mouth had turned bone dry but he didn't notice, his eyes gritty and sore but he didn't blink, he was back in the wasteland, the wind howling round his head and lashing at his skin. He swung round slowly looking into the bleak distance and saw only the void, an empty and desolate expanse, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

Back in the small bathroom the demon stepped away from the sink and gathered up the clothes from the floor, dressing quickly. It nearly had control, but there was still strength tangled in with the immeasurable damage – still fight left in the host. It could feel his confusion as he fought to return from wherever his mind was hiding him. And that strong burning flame of defiance glowed as though it'd been ignited in the pit, and it knew there was no time to waste.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9 Gonna blow like dynamite

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 9 – Gonna blow like dynamite

Sam paced outside the bathroom trying not to make it too obvious he was listening at the door. But it felt like a wasted effort as there was nothing to hear; no running water, no toilet flushing. He took comfort in the fact that there was also no bathroom window opening for a quick escape, or dull thud as his brother's body hit the floor. Running a hand through shaggy hair, Sam knew he would have to bite the bullet and wait it out till Dean decided to make an appearance and that could be any time between now and Armageddon.

ooooo

Defiance was Dean Winchester's middle name, always had been, and the demon only had a seconds warning before he made that known. The battle was fought in near silence but inside, Dean screamed, raged at the violation he was being forced to endure and it gave him unbelievable strength. He could feel it coursing through his body like a torrent, and he had no intention of lying down and hiding in the wasteland of his own mind without a fight, he wouldn't be pushed around inside his own body. This demon was about to find out what it meant to share with a Winchester.

Every angry thought was fuel for his fire. Every creature he'd ever hunted, every evil he'd seen unfold was renewed energy… and he clung to his fury like a man adrift clings to his life raft. The demon hissed and twisted trying to find purchase, but this host was proving slippery and it felt itself pushed back, stomped down, forced to retreat yet again.

Dean tasted hot ash and sulphur in his mouth, and knew he was close to the surface, close to winning. Forcing his head up, he looked once again in the mirror and watched as the amber glow mostly shrank, the deep moss green colour returning and taking its rightful place.

Sinking to his knees Dean rested his forehead on the cool porcelain of the sink and tried to think. There was no getting away from it now, something was in his body with him, sharing the space, reading his thoughts and feelings and he didn't know what to do. All he knew for sure was, he couldn't subject Sam to this…he just couldn't.

ooooo

Sam stood and watched wide eyed as Dean walked back into the main room fully dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, lacing his boots. "Umm, you planning on going somewhere, dude?"

"Need some air." Dean didn't look up at his brother. He knew Sam would be studying him and would instantly spot any trace of amber laced through his eyes; and Sam would know what that meant. He knew he'd try to convince him to stay and let him and Bobby sort this out. And for Dean that risk was just too great.

Sam watched him getting ready to leave with a feeling of trepidation. He had to do something, had to talk his brother down from this suicidal course of action. " Dean, just hold on a minute there, bro, this is so not a good idea right now." He tried to keep his voice neutral, not let his anxiety show, but that was easier said than done. "Look, you've only just woken up, man. You've got to give yourself some time. It's crazy for you to go out now and besides its past midnight, and it's freezing out there."

Dean ignored him, and instead threw a sweeping look around the room, pausing when he spied the table next to the bed and his wallet…John's old wallet, the one he'd been using ever since the pyre. Flipping opened the cracked brown leather, he started searching for bills or plastic…but what he found was unexpected. Concealed in a back pocket was a small piece of shiny paper that Dean had forgotten he owned. He pulled it out of hiding and watched it unfold in his hand. It was a photo.

It was_ the_ photo Dean had found in John's possessions right after he'd died. The one he'd looked at almost every night for a month. Then – he'd touched the tiny cracks and oily marks with his own fingertips, knowing they'd been left by his father's hand. He'd only ever seen his dad look at it twice in all his life and both times, he felt like a voyeur. Both times had been while Sam was at Stanford, and both times, John had rapidly hidden the folded image in his old leather wallet and beaten a hasty retreat to the local bar, only to return stumbling in the early hours. John had never explained and Dean had never asked. He'd never had to; he'd tasted that emptiness himself.

_And the demon was back in the game…it sensed the sadness and encouraged it, fed off it – anger and defiance may have been the host's arsenal but his love for his family was his weakness, and his weakness was now the demon's strength._

Dean stared at the tiny faces; the images of him, and Sammy and mom, looking like the world was beautiful, and bright and sunny, and would stay that way forever. It was crumbling around the edges and stained, covered in a fine mist of fingerprints. He looked long and hard at the likeness of those wide blue eyes, radiating that selfless devotion that only a parent understood…and…he remembered…he'd seen _that_ look on Bobby's face too.

_That deep sorrow was fuel for the demon, Dean knew that and he tried to fight it, tried to stay angry, but he was so tired, and that small picture held more power than he dared imagine. It weakened him, sent him retreating behind the walls inside, sent him running back to the safety of the wasteland._

"Dean, are you listening to me? DEAN?" Sam was bordering on desperation as he knelt in front of his brother, placing both hands on his shoulders, trying to get any response from the older man. "DEAN, Will you look at me? PLEASE"

_Inside, the creature felt the balance of power shift and it rejoiced, it had prepared well, and had expected nothing less. It dug in deep, bracing itself for the breaking tide that was to come just as the overwhelming rush of sadness and loss drowned the host. It felt a body beset with confusion and grief and relished its chance, rolling forward for the final onslaught, filling all the lonely and painful places with its nature, sinking in and settling, riding out the chaotic avalanche of emotion. And gradually, slowly, it took hold, dampening down the tide and becoming the overriding force. _

_It bathed in its victory, pushing deeper and deeper, sending oily tendrils of its essence to explore even further – and it liked what it found._

Dean's perspective shifted again, as his emotions were leached away, leaving only a piece of grimy paper in his hand. He stood up, roughly pushing Sam out of the way as the photo fell from his fingers. Sliding on his leather jacket and holding the car keys slack in his hand he started for the door.

Sam was in a panic. His brother was heading out into the night, and he couldn't let that happen, that was NOT gonna happen. He stood, moving in between Dean and the outside world. "Look, you're not thinking straight right now, so just take off your jacket and relax because you're not going anywhere."

His brother looked at him as though the words had blistered the air between them. "Sam, you need to get out of my way."

And there it was again. Sam. Not Sammy or brother; or dude, or even bitch – just Sam. Even the tone of his voice was all wrong…_ just wasn't Dean._ They were so close now that he could look into his brother's eyes and clearly see the thin ring of red/golden light, circling the deep green of his iris, and this time there was no hiding the fear in his voice, the panic settling in his chest. He knew what that tiny ring of colour meant and it scared him more than any supernatural being he'd ever faced.

"Dean, – put the keys down, please, you aren't going anywhere without me, man."

"Not asking anymore, Sam. Move."

Even John Winchester couldn't have produced a more malevolent whisper, but Sam held his ground and stared at his brother, daring him to do something about it, hoping to God that he wouldn't. What could he do short of decking him? Nothing. And before this, he'd been sure his brother wouldn't do that…but now? Dean stared right back into Sam's face for what felt like an eternity, before looking at the floor and ending the moment. The younger man shook his head and smiled, breathing a silent sigh of relief. 'Yeah, thought as much.'

Dean turned, slowly…but only to gain enough momentum for the right hook that landed squarely on Sam's jaw. The sheer surprise of the pre-emptive attack sent the younger man reeling into the tall lamp next to the door, landing in a heap while white starbursts fought for his attention. He was dazed, but not so much that he couldn't see Dean, lurching through the door, keys in hand and with no regard for the injury he'd just caused his brother.

Although he was scared, it was anger that fuelled him. Anger at being hit, anger at landing on the floor in an undignified mess but most of all, anger at whatever was doing this to his brother…making him behave in this way. "WHAT THE HELL, DEAN?"

Sam scrambled to his feet and barely caught one denim pant leg, pulling him back into the room and sending the older man crashing to the floor on his stomach. He was on him in a heartbeat, pinning his arms against his sides in a brutal bear hug.

"DEAN. Please just stop, you don't know what you're doing."

Sam tightened his squeeze, holding his own wrist in his other hand, which was bad planning as it left him nothing to block the harsh back header Dean sent into his nose. Feeling the bone crunch under the head butt, Sam loosened his grip slightly, giving away all the advantage his brother would ever need.

As Dean swung his weight and straddled him, Sam looked into those piercing eyes. And saw the fire in them, he saw it growing; widening, taking over. And that was Sam's last sight as he felt the second blow to his jaw, the force stilling him, pushing him from the waking world.

Dean stood slowly, breathing heavily and looking at the body on the floor. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, a voice was screaming, but he couldn't understand why, or whose it was. Gradually, he was losing the events of his life. One by one they floated away like embers on a bonfire, swirling upwards and out of his reach. Images of a man with a gruff dark beard and sad eyes flashed through his mind, but he couldn't put a name to him. A beautiful blond woman with love pouring from her face looked down at him, but he didn't know her, he was sure he'd never known her. And then, one single stab of pure emotion…of blame…as he looked at Sam, lying on his back on the floor under him. The baby, then the boy and then the teenager becoming a man, becoming _this_ man…and then those memories were also gone. He brushed at his jacket, straightening it on his shoulders, gazing down at Sam lying at his feet – he felt nothing.

Ignoring the car keys on the floor, the demon spun on his heels and walked from the motel room without once looking back. He had a brave new world to explore.

ooooo

Stanley Cobb merged with the shadows like he belonged to them. It was second nature to him – to be wherever he chose, whenever he wanted, and all but invisible to the outside world. His eyes narrowed as they followed Kyle, walking from the side alley and back into the bar. He'd been following him for a while now, had seen him skulking out of the saloon and into the darkness, trying to hide his actions. He saw the double-crosser take out his phone and make that treacherous call, all the while searching the darkness for fear of being discovered.

Stanley hadn't needed to hear the words; he'd seen the expression on Kyle's face, the fear and concern in his air. Didn't take a genius to know what he'd been doing, just didn't know which one of the three he was in cahoots with. Probably Singer, he seemed to have taken over the 'daddy' role in that twisted little family. Then Kyle had stood, quietly thinking while taking a smoke in that dingy little alley before strutting back to his beer, that overconfident swagger right back in place.

Didn't matter though, none of this mattered. The outcome alone was what counted; the journey they took to get there was just a means to an end.

And like Jacob Hearn had always told him…don't get mad, get even. And he would get even…with the Winchesters, with Singer, and now with Kyle Stephan Barnes. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer and as for those enemies who pretended to be friends, well…they need to be kept within one arm's easy reach. Because there was a special place in hell for traitors…and Cobb planned to make good use of it.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10 I got something to say

Just so as you know, there are one or two swear words in this chapter and an inexplicit description of sex, but it's quite mild so please don't be offended. If swear words _will _offend, please don't read as that was never my intention. Thanks.

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 10 – I got something to say

Joey Wilkes had been known as 'the runt' for as long as he could remember, but it was only now that it was starting to become a problem for him. Now it irked him, held him back, made others look at him like he wasn't quite tough enough to do what needed to be done. With four older, bigger and stronger brothers, he'd always had the short end of the straw, but he'd learnt to turn it to his advantage, a strong survival instinct being a must where he was concerned.

Sitting in his damp and rusty green Oldsmobile, under the flickering neon sign announcing 'Hickson's Bar' to the world, he kept his iron clad attention fixed on the motel over the road. He could tell the folks who'd settled in rooms for the night as well as the lucky bastards who hired by the hour. But he hadn't wavered, not once…not even when the stringy haired blond, on the wrong side of pretty, had knocked on the driver's window and smiled. He'd smiled right back and then ignored her, but he had the common courtesy to feel regret – he was tempted after all, and hell – even the ugly ones needed loving. But he was working hard to establish an altogether different kind of reputation right now and this was how he was doing it.

Joey had been sitting there, unremarkable and unnoticed for longer than he cared to remember. In fact he'd been sitting in that same spot for just over four hours now…ever since he'd followed Bobby Singers truck back to the motel and observed the three occupants stumble out of the dirty pick-up and into their room. They'd been obviously guarded, Singer scanning the area protectively before opening the door and ushering the other two inside. Then, a few hours later, the old man left again – got in his truck and got on the road. That'd been nearly midnight.

He let out a loud yawn and stretched both arms high over his head, pushing both palms into the roof, he was long passed his boredom threshold with nothing of interest to report…until, that is, he saw Dean Winchester stalk out of the motel room…alone…and stumble across the road towards the bar. Joey sat up straighter in his seat and watched with unexpected interest as his quarry staggered, not looking at all steady on his feet, and all of a sudden that neon sign was flashing 'opportunity'.

The car door complained loudly as he got out, twisting on the loose hinge and needing two attempts to close. Joey never locked it. Why bother? Who would steal that? He started ambling towards the saloon door in quiet pursuit just far enough away to be inconspicuous, while he patted his pockets, making sure he had his mobile and his pistol.

ooooo

The road glistened underfoot as the demon walked in Dean's shoes, staring at the faces of the few people it saw, making them shrink back, obviously sensing the innate danger they were in. It stumbled slightly crossing the road, not yet used to dominating the host's body but gaining more control all the time. Unsure of where it was going, it possessed only one desire, to experience as much as it could as quickly as possible. This was a new age, a new world, and it would savour it all, and when it was done tasting, it would take control, just like it had with its host.

There were more people on this side of the road and the faint echo of music drifting through the air, drawing it like a moth to a flame, needing the heat of the bodies it could sense in the bar. Walking through the swing door the music assaulted its new ears, throbbing through the air, weaving images of fire and heat – images of home.

'…_rise up, gather round, rock this place to the ground… …burn it up, let's go for broke, watch the night go up in smoke……rock on, rock on…drive me crazier… …no serenade, no fire brigade just a pyromania…'_

This music was raw and vibrant, it was sexually charged energy. The demon had never experienced anything quite like it before...and it liked what it heard. The beat flowed freely through the room, lacing round the writhing bodies that pressed against each other in their animalistic display of mating rituals.

'_...come on…what do you want, what do you want…I want rock and roll…I want rock and roll……ooh lets go, let's strike a light, gonna blow like dynamite…I don't care if it takes all night, gonna set this town alight…come on……rock of ages…rock of ages…'_

Making its way to the juke box and the steady rhythm of Def Leppard, it placed both hands on the smeary glass and felt the vibrations as they worked their way up its arms and into its gut. This hypnotic pulse was worth pursuing. Leaning forward it pressed into the machine, soaking up the vibrations as they worked their way under it's new skin and into its bones. Closing Dean's eyes, it threw his head back and soaked up every beat…

"Oh man, would you look at that, he's humping the jukebox, Jesus, dude…can't you find a woman…you fucking freak?" The wide, leather clad mammoth of a man threw his shoulder into Dean's side as he walked past him, shoving him hard against the machine, making the music jump with the force of the impact. The scene was starting to attract a number of interested observers, some mildly wondering what the strange, vacant looking young man was doing to the jukebox but most, wanting to see what Dean would do now.

But all he did was look in the face of the big man and stand quiet and still.

"Eddie, come on baby, don't keep me waiting." The woman at his side bit her bottom lip in a blatant attempt at seduction and manoeuvred herself in front of big Ed.

"Place is full of fucking FREAKS"

"Then let's go someplace more private, come on darling, I know a place, just out the back." She pulled his hand and rubbed it against her butt while she giggled and swayed her hips suggestively.

Big Ed gave Dean his best intimidating glare as he walked away, following his conquest towards the back door and out into the alley. For a moment the demon stood and watched them go, oblivious to the looks it was getting from the other patrons. Then slowly, it walked to the backdoor and followed the couple out into the night.

Joey had watched the whole spectacle from just inside the doorway. He'd seen Dean's weird behaviour at the jukebox and saw him gaze curiously and dispassionately at the heavy who was obviously looking for a fight to impress his woman. He just didn't know where this was coming from? Was Dean drunk? Was he sick? He sure as hell wasn't acting like he'd been up till now, and Joey should know – he'd been shadowing Dean Winchester for what felt like forever. He looked fleetingly at his phone and pressed the send button, knowing that his message would have reinforcements there within a few minutes, and then he walked out of the bar and into the alley to see what he could see.

ooooo

She was too well endowed to be called big boned, with flesh bulging over the tight waistband of the smallest denim mini skirt, the top button of the cheap blouse she wore deliberately left open showing a flash of black lace bra and an ample cleavage. Big Ed had his mouth there lapping at the pale skin and working his way back up to her throat and into her mouth.

The demon stopped in the shadows and took a deep breath, letting the smell of stale alcohol and sex fill Dean's lungs. He saw the man's mouth close on hers, and watched his hands roam over her fleshy curves as she urged him onward with soft moans whispered into open lips. And then she caught sight of Dean, standing, watching the display of wanton desire and arousal. Slowly she grinned, parting those deep crimson lips giving a view of pearly white dental work, and then she winked at him.

It'd been an age since the demon had walked the earth but this new and improved society, where pleasure and power were freely available if you knew how to take them was its Shangri-La. It watched through Dean's eyes as the man's hand reached lower, hungry fingers pressing into the bare flesh of her thigh. It heard her moan with pleasure, and felt a thrill twist inside its own gut that burned its way down through its body. The demon leered, it could smell her arousal and it wanted what it saw.

"What the fuck?" Ed turned quickly facing the smaller man with murder in his eyes. "You just got your last ever free ride, boy, now you pay for the show."

"Eddie, baby, he's harmless, he was just watching." The buxom woman was holding her open blouse together in a belated attempt at modesty, her pleas falling on deaf ears, but big Ed was already set on his path.

He reached behind him and pulled out the twelve inch blade he used for _dirty little fucks,_ like this no good piece of shit in front of him. Taking up the instinctual stance of a street fighter he twisted the tip of the blade in a loose figure of eight, feeling the balance and enjoying the foreplay as he advanced on Dean, who stood looking blankly at the events unfolding around him. As Ed arced wide, the blade made its first descent and cut straight through Dean's cheek from just under his right eye, across both lips and down the centre of his chin, spraying crimson with the violence of the blow. But Dean didn't move. He stood and watched as Ed faltered, losing his bravado when faced with a victim who refused to run.

"What the fuck?" He swung the blade again, this time directly at Dean's chest; this kid wouldn't have any chance this time, no matter what drugs he was on to stop him feeling the pain of the blade. No-one could just stand there with a fucking twelve inch knife in their heart. But as the dull metal thrust its way forward, Dean reached out with one hand and caught the belly of the blade in between forefinger and thumb halting the weapons momentum in its tracks.

Ed pulled sharply, trying to withdraw his knife from the stranger's fingers, not caring if he sliced them clean off, but the blade didn't budge and as he struggled he saw the long, thin cut he'd inflicted down the man's face slowly knitting back together, sealing itself as though it'd never been there.

For the first time in his life Ed's body trembled as he knew true fear. He growled his words through clenched teeth. "What the FUCK are you, man?"

The demon smiled, contorting the handsome face into a parody of the sentiment, finally making its innermost nature known. As the big man struggled to regain his weapon, the demon reached out and wrapped cold fingers around his throat, and with no effort at all, pulled out his trachea.

The deafening silence was shattered only by his girlfriend's piercing scream as she saw Ed's body slump forward to his knees and then slam forward onto the filthy ground, the demon dropping the bloody windpipe in the messy puddle of fluids and gristle. She ran for her life, stumbling over loose paving stones and losing one heel from her shoe – but she still ran.

The demon was standing over the body when Joey stepped out from the shadow, his pistol aimed at Dean's chest. "Okay, Winchester, just take it easy." The barrel trembled as Joey glanced past Dean to the floor and took in the bloody mess that had once been a man called Ed. "Oh, man…shit, SHIT…What the hell have you done; Winchester? What the fucking hell have you done?"

The demon looked at Joey for as long as it took to draw breath before slowly walking towards him, the same foul smile on its stolen face…and Joey fired point blank three times, one low, one middle, one high, just like he'd been taught. He watched the bullets all hit home, the first embedding itself in Dean's thigh, the second in his chest, and the last through his neck severing the carotid and sending a cascade of Winchester blood to join the growing lake on the floor.

The demon felt no pain but it sensed the life leaving the host's body and it knew it had to act. The throat first, that was the one that would bleed out the quickest, it had to staunch that blood flow if it was to keep this body, _and it wanted to keep this body_, had fought too hard to lose it now.

As the demon retreated to do its work, Dean crumpled to the ground, his eyes open and staring, his face devoid of all expression. Joey stumbled backward till his back was braced against the wall and slid down to his haunches, keeping the gun trained on the unmoving body in front of him. The others would be there soon, they would know what to do…'oh God, please God, don't let him be dead' – _he'd never killed a man before._

TBC


	11. Chapter 11 Going sideways

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 11 – Going sideways and then some

The big black car was the first thing Bobby noticed as he swung into the motel car lot. It was still illuminated by the one working street lamp, still parked up and watching over the boys. The second thing he noticed was the door to their motel room standing slightly ajar.

It'd barely been forty-five minutes since he'd spoken to Sam and he'd nearly killed himself getting back. But past experience had taught him it didn't matter how long you had – evil always found a way. He pulled up sharply and reached for the 45 stashed in the glove compartment. It wasn't much, not as good as a decent double barrel but it was better then walking in there buck naked. Now he just had to pray he wasn't too late. He steeled himself and slid from the cab, mentally preparing for whatever was in that room.

Silently making his way forward, Bobby crept to the doorway and stole a furtive glance through the narrow gap. The room was in near darkness, the faint glow of Sam's laptop the only source of light casting an eerie yellowish hue to the interior. The bed where he'd left Dean was empty; so either he'd walked out of there under his own steam or someone else had walked in and taken him. Waiting until his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he ducked down and inched his way through the door, noticing the broken lamp on the floor…and then the large dark shape that was Sam.

He was lying on his back, face turned away, showing just enough of a large red welt in the dim light. The bruise was right on the sweet spot of his jaw line too, pretty much Dean's trademark move. _Had Dean done this?_ That boy was always accurate if nothing else. Bobby focussed on Sam's chest until he could be sure of movement, sure that he was breathing, and then returned to the job at hand. He hadn't survived this long as a hunter by being gung-ho and he wasn't about to start now. Slowly he eased into the room, his aim following his eye line. It only took him a minute to sweep the bedroom and bathroom and then crouch down by the unconscious man.

"Sam?" He touched his throat, feeling for a pulse – slow but strong. 'Well at least one Winchester was going to live to fight another day'.

Just as Bobby reached out again, Sam swung his arm wildly, catching the older man and nearly sending him toppling to the floor. Wide-eyed and questioning, Sam groaned as he tried to sit up…and failed miserably, flopping to the side and hitting his head on the floor again.

"Easy, Sam, take it easy." Bobby's voice was all the focus Sam needed and he opened bleary eyes, turning his head towards the older man.

"Bo…Bobby?"

"Sam? Who took your brother? Come on, Sam, look at me."

"No-o…Didn't take, he j...swent."

Right at that moment, Sam looked like one of the sorriest sights Bobby Singer had ever clapped eyes on, but there was no time to feel pity, Dean needed to be found. "So…he up and walked out of here?"

"Bobby…his eyes were…they were…red." Sam twisted on the floor, forcing his knees under him and once again trying to find the leverage to get up.

Swiping one palm over short whiskers Bobby reached round under Sam's arm, helping him to sit propped against the bed. "We'll deal with that when the time's right, Sam, but for now we just gotta find him and get him back here. Think you can walk?"

Watching the younger man nod, Bobby stood up and gently helped him to stand, supporting him as he swayed unsteadily. "Okay then, well take my truck…Let's go find your brother."

Stepping out into the cool night air, Sam steadied himself on the doorframe. The dull ache in his jaw was still there and throbbing like a bitch, but at least his head was clearer now. "Where do we start, Bobby, any ideas?"

Before the older man could answer, their attention was immediately drawn to the flashing lights of the ambulance speeding towards the parking lot of the 'Hickson's Bar' over the road, and the small crowd that was now gathering at the mouth of the side alley.

Both hunters shared a silent look. Neither wanted to voice their suspicions out loud – to acknowledge what that ambulance could mean…but both men knew only too well that coincidences didn't happen in their lives. Crossing the road quickly, Bobby took the lead. _If Dean was the person in need of that ambulance…?_

"You go inside, Sam, find out what you can. Meet me back here in a few minutes."

Watching the youngest Winchester work his way to the swing doors, Bobby walked quietly over to the first bystander he saw; a tall, gaunt looking kid with a thatch of spiky blond hair and a spiky attitude to match. "Hey, kid. You know what's going on?"

The skinny youth looked Bobby up and down slowly before deciding to answer. "Looks like some guy's been stabbed in the throat; think he's dead. There was gunfire too. Cops are on their way…but that weird dude with a thing for jukeboxes? He just up and vanished. I'd put money on it being him, man. He was _weird_."

_A thing for jukeboxes? _Bobby couldn't decide whether that sounded like Dean or not, but if there was any chance he'd got away rather than ending up dead in an alley…hell, he was gonna roll with that. "Can you remember what he looked like, this _weird_ guy?"

The kid shrugged, he was far more interested in the excitement going on around the ambulance. "Tall…dark hair…I don't know?"

"Can you remember what he was wearing?"

"No man, I don't know."

Bobby pushed round to face him, deliberately obstructing his view of the commotion in the alley. He spoke slowly and with more than a hint of menace. "Would you recognise him if you saw him again?" He definitely had this kid's attention now.

"Don't know…maybe?" The boy didn't look too comfortable; in fact he looked like talking to this gruff old timer was rapidly becoming one huge mistake.

From his back pocket Bobby took out a battered credit card holder and flipped it open. "Was this him?"

The photo was of both Sam and Dean, propped up on the hood of the Impala, both wearing stupid grins and Dean holding up a beer in silent salute. "Yeah, sure, that could be him, I guess."

"Now were getting somewhere. So when was the last time you saw him?" Out of the corner of his eye Bobby saw Sam walking back from the bar and hastily closed the holder, tucking it back in his pocket. He had no desire to explain why he carried around a picture of those two boys. Dean Winchester wasn't the only hunter with an aversion to chick flick moments.

"Told you, man, he just up and left, don't know where he went, just leave me alone." The kid scurried away, looking over his shoulder just once as Sam arrived next to Bobby, still gently rubbing at the sore spot on his jaw. He shook his head at the older man.

"The ambulance is for a guy called Ed, local bully by all accounts, picked fights all the time but didn't usually lose. But as far as Dean, there's nothing, Bobby. No-one knows anything, might not have been him…but my guts telling me he was here."

"I recon he was here all right, Sam. But I ain't sure we should be pleased about it." He'd barely finished speaking when his phone chirped, signalling a message.

Silently watching as Bobby retrieved his phone, Sam caught the look of fear as it flashed across his face before he had a chance to hide it. "Bobby? What is it?"

Holding up the handset, he let Sam read the two words printed on the screen…knowing it would mean nothing to him…knowing he had more explaining to do. The message simply read _'gone sideways'_ followed by a set of co-ordinates.

ooooo

Laughter.

That was all he could hear to start with, and then a voice, but he didn't recognise it. It wasn't Sam, he knew that, and it wasn't Bobby either.

He tried to speak, to ask where he was but his body felt like a dead fish on a slab, his tongue a useless lump of cotton wadding in his mouth.

An engine. He could hear an engine. But it wasn't a V8…it wasn't his baby.

And there was that laughter again. A nervous laugh, belonging to someone far more unsure of themselves than they cared to let on. Someone was talking and Dean strained to listen, trying to get some clue to where he was.

"That was nice shooting, kid. Lucky you didn't kill him outright." The voice was gruff, but not old and held more than a hint of irony.

"Yeah. That's me…I did that, always hit what I'm aiming at." This one was younger and his tone didn't match his words. He sounded scared, terrified actually. "Recon Cobb's gonna be pleased?"

"Who the hell knows? Wouldn't want to second guess what that man would be pleased about."

Dean could feel someone close by, could sense their presence but he was too tired to care. He was used up; empty. And so he let himself drift…catching only the briefest of snatches of what was going on around him.

"Trust me, kid, this guy had it coming."

"You're telling me. If you'd seen what he did to the dude in that alley? Man…That ain't no way to die."

"It's what's called a reciprocal world, kid. Everyone gets what's coming to them sooner or later, and this guy's gonna get his sooner…that's all."

Then the laugh again, and Dean heard nothing more as the darkness slowly covered him like a blanket, twisting around him in a protective layer of shadow.

ooooo

The lakeside boatshed was officially in use, but in name only.

The stench of salty mildew and dry rot was enough to keep most people at bay, and even those who wished to work on their crafts chose the freshness of the open air, rather than brave that dark dank structure. Cobb had chosen well.

Dean woke to a steady loud dripping in his ear. It sounded close and made him thirsty. His throat was on fire and his neck felt tight, making it difficult to breath and he could taste blood and ash in his mouth…and the sickening tinge of sulphur. Carefully, he opened his eyes but only one lid moved…the lashes of the other glued with dried blood and grit. He tried to cough but had no energy for the action so instead concentrated on his breathing; in through the nose, out through the mouth. '_Sam?_'

His chest felt heavy with the effort, and it was more than a little worrying that he couldn't feel much from the waist down except the cold. 'Definitely had better days, and w_here the hell was Sam?' _He struggled to remember, to cast his mind back to the last time he'd seen his brother but all he could come up with was lying in a bed, feeling way too hot for comfort and listening to the tapping as Sam's fingers worked the keyboard of his laptop.

His shirt had been removed and there was a large bloodstained bandage wrapped around his chest. Another wad of gauze was strapped to a wound on his thigh but he couldn't feel it. Sensation was slowly returning though, and as he tried to lift his head the tightness in his neck was replaced by sharp white pain, lancing up the side of his face and settling in behind his eyes.

Letting out a groan he let his head hang down again hoping some of the pain would subside, but instead it turned to a dull throb.

Most of what he could see from his position was the floor. And there, drawn in bright yellow chalk was a large devils trap. It only took Dean a second to realise he was sitting right in the middle of it, tied to a wooden chair with wet rope twisted round both wrists and ankles. The rope was drying, slowly biting into his skin…he wouldn't be worming his was out of those bonds anytime soon. Whoever had tied him, knew what they were doing.

He looked at the floor again, the sight of the devils trap doing more to galvanise him into action than any amount of pain. He forced his head up and felt the pull of the bandage taped to the wound on his neck. The vague memory of someone he didn't recognise, laughing at him and telling him he'd been shot, drifted into his mind but it made little sense. Scrunching his eyes he took a deep breath and forced them both open feeling the tug of his lashes as they pulled apart and finally, he could take in the rest of the dank room.

Small beams of early morning light slid through rotting holes in the wooden walls, allowing him more of a look at his surroundings. The damp timber floorboards were a rainbow of slimy greens and browns, the damp making the yellow chalk of the sigil glow thickly against the wood. At regular intervals there were large metal rings fused to the floor where boats could be moored – if anyone ever had the inclination to use the place. Against the nearest wall, a pile of wooden trunks; all padlocked but one…and that was overflowing with nautical wares. Ropes, some chain, what looked like an old style flare gun and an old tarpaulin that had all seen better days.

And he was alone. But he wondered how long that would last. Whoever had left him there must've had a reason, which probably meant they'd be back sooner rather than later.

The throbbing in Dean's head was blossoming into a full on base line and he winced at the white pain behind his eyes…

…but it was nothing to the agonising layers of memory that suddenly came crashing down as the curtain of fog was ripped away in Dean's mind, displaying all he was, and all he ever had been. Putting it all on show and playing it out in Technicolor inside his head.

The action replay of what the demon had forced his body to perform was a dim nightmare of shared experience but he didn't doubt its validity for a moment. He remembered in a jumble of images…He saw the woman putting her body on display…felt the throbbing music wind up his arms as he held tight to the jukebox…he saw the look on Sam's face as he swung hard enough to break his jaw…and…he saw the look in the big man's eyes as his throat was pulled out, his life ebbing away into the asphalt…

And he sobbed at the memories. For what his weakness had allowed the demon to do through him…for the innocent man who was now dead at his hand…And for Sammy, deserted, unprotected and confused…

The wooden panel door swung open with a deep groan, and Dean knew he wasn't alone anymore. Blinking away the tears, he looked up…right into the sour face of Stanley Cobb.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12 Friends in low places

A huge shout out to Hazgarn, for some great feedback about the dialogue in this chapter. Thanks for taking the time to help me improve this story, I appreciate it.

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 12 – Friends in low places

Bobby made no sound as he crept along the edge of the woodland, weaving between the trees and undergrowth. He was positioned just right; close enough to the waters edge to see the boathouse, far enough in the shadows to be shielded from the first struggling rays of early morning sun. The sticky, damp ground smelt of musk and mouldy leaves, but at least it was easy enough to be stealthy here…and it was going to be a cold day which meant fewer people would be out and about on the lake. Fewer people to avoid also meant fewer people to protect from what was inevitably going to go down.

He made his way silently back to Sam, wiping cold sweat from the corner of his eye as he reached their small vantage point, and spoke softly as he saw the haggard look on the younger Winchester's face. "Definitely someone inside but couldn't get close enough to figure out who. Got a good look at the lay of the land though, whole building backs right on to the lake so we could get in that way, or there's a door on the south side and a good few weak spots in the panel walls that we could bust right through if it came to it."

Sam continued loading his Berretta, Bobby's pistol and both shotguns with regular ammo – no salt rounds here. The knowledge they were about to take on 'normal' people to get his brother back made his gut squirm, but it also served to strengthen his resolve. "Best bet is if we take them by surprise. I'll head down to the waters edge and come at them through the open side, while you go through the main door."

Bobby reached up and placed a calming hand on the younger man's shoulder, and felt the tremble of anger and frustration run through him. He felt for him, he really did…hell, he wanted to bust in there, kill every single son of a bitch who'd hurt Dean and drag the boy back to the safety of his breakers yard…But running in guns blazing wasn't the way this needed to go, and he had to make Sam understand that. "Now just hold up there. Cobb ain't no rookie and he ain't gonna fall for anything. The last thing Dean needs right now is for one of us to get caught and used against him. We gotta use a bit of cunning here, and come up with a plan that gives us the edge".

"And how are we going to do that exactly?" Sam turned to the older man, eyes pleading for the answers he knew Bobby didn't have.

"Don't forget we've got someone on the inside…we've already got the edge, we just need to wait for him."

Sam drew in a heavy breath and looked up to the sky, then back to the floor in sheer frustration. "Of course…you mean this mystery guardian angel you won't tell me anything about…? Well excuse me for not putting all my faith in him…someone who as far as I know, has his own agenda."

Bobby tightened his grip, halting Sam in his tracks before he had a chance to turn away and forcing him to pay attention. "I know your angry, Sam, but you need to wind this in right now. There are damned good reasons I ain't filled you in about Kyle, and I'd think you'd trust me, even if you can't trust him. We got a real good chance to get your brother out of there in one piece and if we work this right, we can have help with what needs to be done afterwards too. And you'd better believe we're gonna need all the help we can get".

Suddenly Bobby let go of Sam's shoulder, straightened his back and raised his chin, speaking just a little louder than he needed to…projecting his words into the undergrowth. "And, I'm guessing he's just arrived?"

Sam heard the rustle of undergrowth and spun, aiming his pistol at the shadows just as Kyle stepped forward, a lop-sided grin gracing his face as he took in the younger man's confusion. Bobby was the first to speak, his tone quiet but firm. "Guessing you heard all that?"

Kyle's voice was gravely and deep and bore more than a passing resemblance to John. "Only cos I was eavesdropping, good to see you, Bo." He held out a hand tentatively but breathed a silent sigh of relief as Bobby ignored it, and grabbed him in a swift hug, patting him hard on the back.

"Kyle. It's good to see you. Gotta say, you had me worried there, and more than once. You remember Sam? Probably no taller than the dog last time you set eyes on him…" Bobby's look was full of hidden meaning and it wasn't lost on Sam who frowned slightly at Kyle as he looked him over, hesitating slightly before shaking his hand. He had no recollection of this man. He was sure he'd never met him or even heard Bobby or his dad speak of him, yet the way Bobby was behaving it was like he was long lost family.

"So Kyle, what'd you got? Please tell me you've got something?"

Kyle frowned deeply, his whole demeanour turning serious. "Well, you were right. Cobb thinks Dean's got the book, but he also believes he's got a whole lot more than that...Thinks the kids got it in him, Bobby, and he's planning on taking his time getting it out. He's got a runt working for him called Joey; got a little trigger happy earlier and Dean got shot but that thing in him is keeping him alive…

"Dean got shot…?" That got Sam's attention.

"That's what I've been told. Got a call telling me to get to the boathouse double quick time, and that it's all going down right now. So…I'm gonna go in there, and when the time is right I'll send you a signal…"

"Not good enough…" Sam was pacing the small clearing and rapidly loosing what little patience he possessed. "If Dean's been shot we may not have much time, and we can't waste what we do have, sneaking around with our tails between our legs…"

Bobby could see the Winchester warning signs a mile off, and that was not good. They couldn't afford for Sam to loose it now. "Sam, just cool your jets will ya… With a little luck…"

But Sam cut him off. "You noticed anything about our luck lately, Bobby?" He was just getting angrier. These two may be experienced hunters but while they were sitting and planning, Dean could be dying in that boathouse, he could be bleeding to death right now…

It was Kyle who answered, turning to face Sam, staring him down and speaking in a voice that sounded so much like John Winchester it made Sam's heart clench. "You know what the chain of command is Sam? You remember what your daddy taught you? Hell, what about what your brother taught you? Now we got a plan, it's a good one and IT WILL WORK so you need to stick to it. No heroics…and in case you haven't notice, we've been doing this a whole lot longer than you and your brother".

Sam returned Kyle's piercing glare with a ferocious look of his own that would have floored a weaker man, but Kyle had been expecting it. And he had nothing but admiration for the love and devotion being shown by this young man towards his brother. If he were honest, he was feeling pretty jealous about it.

He waited for a second before allowing his face to relax, still watching Sam but addressing Bobby. "Plenty of brain cells, but hasn't got an overabundance of common sense has he?" His gentle smile now helping to diffuse the situation, Kyle reached out and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Just have a little faith, Sam, that's all I'm asking."

ooooo

Cobb cracked his thin lips slowly before he spoke while both Bill and Joey held back, silently watching the show. He'd waited a very long time for this and he wasn't going to rush things. It was disappointing though, he'd been hoping for so much more. Not some boy who looked barely old enough to know one end of a shotgun from the other. This kid really was barely older than the runt, and he was frustrated at the lack of sport he'd get from him, no matter what his reputation. He growled his words out through clenched teeth. "Dean Winchester…nice to finally met you face to face, heard a whole lot about you."

Dean watched Cobb as the older man pulled up a chair and straddled it on the edge of the devils trap. He watched him unsheathe the huge hunting blade from the tight leather scabbard at his hip, and he watched him lick his lips in anticipation of what was to come…but all Dean could feel was sorrow. There was no fear, no dread or anticipation of the pain that was sure to come; there was only the deepest despair he'd ever experienced.

He'd killed a man. He'd murdered an innocent bystander. Someone who had no idea what was out there, and who probably wouldn't have believed it even if he'd been told. And he couldn't blame the possession…No, he still didn't believe what had happened to him was possession…not in the strictest sense of the word, not like what had happened to Sam. Sam had been taken over completely, just like John, in the cabin before the crash. And even then, his dad had found the strength to throw that bitch out even if it had been just for a second.

Dean couldn't bring himself to utter a word; he didn't want the sobs threatening to spill out to be mistaken for fear. So he remained silent, looking at the floor. All he could think was…what would John think of his oldest son's weakness? Of his pathetic inability to stop this from happening? He cringed inwardly at his own failure to perform the simplest of tasks…to just say stop. John had done it, but Dean wasn't John…wasn't even a pale imitation of his father. Dean knew he was in deep trouble but somewhere inside he couldn't shake the feeling that just maybe…he deserved whatever was about to happen to him.

"Got nothing to say, boy?...Shame. I heard you had quite the mouth on you…But somehow I think you're gonna be making plenty of noise before long." Cobb grinned as he played with the blade between his fingers, drawing in back and forth in the air, allowing the small beams of yellow, dusty light, streaming through the walls to dance off its silvery edge.

Cobb eyed the sleek metal as he spoke. "Do you know what this is Dean? It's called a Gerber. Best blade in the world…can slice through skin or steel with the same ease and precision. Do you know how much a knife like this costs, Dean? No? Well neither do I." He lowered the blade and focused instead on the younger man's face. "See…three men tried to kill me once, from behind no less, all at the same time. The head honcho? He carried this…" Cobb held the blade higher, appraising its beauty as it glinted in the soft light. "…so, I cut off his hands with his own knife and left him to bleed out in a river. Seemed like a good way to get the message out there, don't ya think?"

Dean looked up just far enough to catch Cobb's eye, and immediately regretted it. The cold calculating stare that looked back was that of pure hatred for everything Dean was, and he could almost feel the burn of it on his skin. At that moment, he would have put money on not getting out of this one alive.

Cobb took another deep breath and spoke again, more softly this time. "I want you to think about what I'm telling you Winchester, cos I want you to know who you're dealing with. See, I could push this pig sticker into your gut, twist it around a little, slice up an organ or two, I could even take a guess at how much blood you'd lose, but…you wouldn't die would you?"

He grinned widely at the anguish starting to show on Dean's face, and leaned forward as far as he could without breaking the chalk circle, his voice a low malevolent whisper. "You touched the book, didn't you boy? Or maybe it touched you? I know what you did in the alley…young Joey's filled me in. So, I want you to know exactly who you're dealing with…because rest assured, I know exactly what I'm dealing with."

Just at that moment the wooden panel door creaked open, grinding as the rusty metal of the hinge dragged against the bracket. Joey held his ground but Bill swiftly moved to the side, just in case the visitor was not who they were expecting. He visibly relaxed at the sight of Kyle swaggering through the door, a wide grin on his face and overconfidence oozing from every pore. He spoke loud, and directed his attention to Cobb and the man sitting tied to the chair in the centre of the yellow sigil.

"Well well…what'd I miss?"

Cobb waited patiently until Kyle had entered and the door had been firmly closed again before answering him. "And now it looks like our little party's complete…I guess the fun can really start…" He turned to face his hired hand, his dark hooded eyes almost completely unreadable. "…Ain't that right...Kyle?"

TBC


	13. Chapter 13 Sinking down to the depths

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 13 – Sinking down to the depths

Kyle kept walking towards Stanley and his prisoner, only coming to a halt at the very edge of the yellow web of chalk symbols, the gentle smile on his face never once looking out of place. "I see you got your boy then, Cobb."

"Never doubted it for a minute with the team I had working the problem." The gruff old man nodded briefly at the other two in the room before standing slowly, his gaze resting once more on Dean. "Not talking though. Think we may have to do something 'bout that. What'd you say Kyle? Think of any interesting ways to get our boy here to make some noise…?"

Kyle looked at Dean, slowly appraising him in detail for the first time. Three bloody bandages were loosely strapped across his body, one at his neck, others at his chest and thigh. But they looked to have staunched the bleeding from those bullet wounds and the kid looked awake and mostly alert. He also looked sick, pasty, shaking and…lost. He looked deeply lost, vacant…like he wasn't really in there at all. And Kyle couldn't blame him.

Stanley spoke again, his tone taking on an almost friendly air as he toyed with the blade in his hand. "So…you ever been possessed before, Winchester?"

Dean kept his eyes glued to the sigil on the ground. He was starting to feel a stirring from deep inside and he knew it was the demon. He knew it had been dormant…tending to his wounds, repairing his weary body but now it was awake. And he could only pray this hastily scribbled devils trap would be enough.

Cobb glanced at Kyle but gestured in Dean's direction. "See, I think this is a good thing…I think every professional hunter should have personal experience of what it feels like to be possessed, don't you Kyle? What it feels like to be taken over, your body used while you just watch on…it helps to remind us what we're fighting for, don't you think? Gives us resolve…gives us focus."

Kyle was staring hard at Dean just as he raised his head, briefly catching his eye…_Christ_, _the kid has John's eyes_…and he saw the pain, the turmoil he was going through. All he wanted to do was reassure him, tell him he had friends who would get him out of there, but he couldn't afford to show his hand, couldn't blow it now. Kyle jumped slightly when Stanley spoke again.

"Need to know where the book is, and I think our young guest here knows. Think it's about time we encouraged him to open that pretty mouth of his, don't you?" Cobb twisted his head, throwing the command over his shoulder. "Bill, go get the battery pack and leads from the car…we need to get this show on the road." Slowly Cobb started to pace around the yellow markings, moving behind Kyle and out of his line of sight. "Need to know where the book is, boy, and believe me when I say that no-one will loose any sleep if you don't make it out of this one alive, so don't hold back y'hear".

Licking his lips, Bill made for the door; he'd been waiting for this, and although any form of torture felt distasteful to him, he'd a morbid fascination with what was to come that sent a thrill of anticipation running through his spine. He was going to see a true professional at work.

_Battery pack?_ Kyle squirmed at the thought of what that meant. "Sound's like you've got something in mind, Stanley. Just what exactly are you planning on doing here, exactly?"

The gently click of a hammer being drawn back was all the warning Stanley gave. "I ain't gonna do nothing, _Kyle_…_You are_." Turning slowly to face Cobb, Kyle was confronted by the pale glint of white light, shining off the steel barrel of the 45 held tight in Stanley's hand, pointing directly at his chest.

ooooo

Bobby spotted Bill Kale stalking from the boathouse as soon as the door opened. He was so focused on the job at hand that he never saw the more experienced hunter barrel into his side taking him clean off his feet, landing heavily in the mud and bracken.

Ever the professional Bobby was first on his feet, and it took just one swift elbow, cleanly aimed at the other man's jaw to knock him out of this world and into the land of blissful empty sleep. Carefully dragging the limp form into the undergrowth, Bobby set about gagging and securing him to the nearest tree with Sam all the while keeping watch on the boathouse. One down, two to go…and then the work really starts.

ooooo

"What the hells this about, Stanley? What's the problem here?" Kyle tried to play outraged and indignant but he knew Stanley wasn't buying it, he was seeing straight through the feeble attempts at deception.

"Didn't your daddy ever tell you, Kyle…should never play a player? Ain't nothing gets past me and you're an amateur at best. So just what made you think you could play both sides, huh? What exactly are they paying you with, Kyle?"

He knew the game was up and past experience told him his best course of action now was to get a signal to Bobby and Sam. He scanned the room cautiously but there was nothing he could use. The pistol in his waistband was still hidden and he knew he had no chance of getting to it before Cobb pulled his own trigger. '_Situation not looking so great.'_

Squaring up to the older man, he lowered his tone making a concerted effort to hold the quiver in his voice at bay. "I stopped being scared of bullish old men like you years ago, Cobb. And I've worked with worse…but always knew which side of the line to walk." He didn't dare drag his eyes from Cobb's malevolent glare, not without giving away the deep trepidation he felt at being in the presence of this man. It was obvious Stanley was still on the edge, teetering over his own personal precipice. There was no predicting how this madness worked through him.

Cobb growled at the younger man, intimidating him without even trying…prepared to end this now. "Big mistake you made double crossing me, boy. Last mistake you'll ever make."

Kyle only had time to dry swallow once and closed his eyes in a tight grimace before Cobb lifted the 45, aimed it at his head and pulled the trigger.

He heard the dull thud of a misfire from Cobb's gun…and then another…and he didn't waste another second, both hands reaching behind and withdrawing his own pistol and pointing it at Stanley's chest. Cobb, grimacing in disgust threw his useless gun aside but still held his trusted Gerber in one hand as he stared Kyle down. The look on Stanley's face hadn't changed one bit. It was clear the gun pointed at him meant nothing.

A small movement from the shadows and Kyle saw the glint of shaking metal in Joeys hand as he stepped forward preparing to back Cobb. So he kept his tone gravelly, this kid was clearly out of his depth. "If I was as scared as you are right now kid, I wouldn't fart in case I shat myself. Now you put that gun down before you get hurt. You've done enough shooting for one day." Slowly, threateningly he drew back the hammer. He knew he didn't need to but the action had the desired effect and he saw Joey place his gun on the floor at his feet before straightening and standing with open arms.

"Good boy, now you just kick that little pea shooter over here towards me and make yourself scarce, kid, no need for you to die today…Unless that was your plan."

Joey kicked half heartedly sending his pistol skittering across the wet floorboards but landing short of the mark and started to inch his way towards the door. There was no doubt in his mind someone _was_ going to die today and it wasn't going to be him. A heartbeat later he was out of the boathouse and running.

Cobb stood calmly watching Kyle, palming the blade and stroking the bluish metal with his index finger. Kyle wasn't the first man to be gutted like a fish with this knife and he sure wouldn't be the last, but he might just prove to be the most enjoyable for a long while.

"See, Kyle, I don't think you got what it takes to pull that trigger, don't think you got the stones…" He smiled wide, showing an uneven row of greying teeth. "So tell me, Kyle, which do you think is faster, you're bullet or my blade?"

From his chair, Dean watched the exchange like a man sleepwalking. He was weak, very weak but the demon was strong. It looked at the two men through Dean's eyes and he was powerless to stop it. He was fading away; his spirit all but broken as the creature inside him became more powerful, feeding off his grief and misery. His physical pain was gradually subsiding but with that small respite came the knowledge that this creature was taking over, it was making its final stand and soon there would be no part of Dean left at all.

The empty wilderness inside his head called to him, he could almost hear the whispering of the gentle warm wind against his face…could almost feel the dust and sand between his toes and he could remember the blessed peace he knew was there. But he couldn't succumb; had to fight while there was still something left to fight for.

Stanley was moving towards Kyle now, inching closer and closing the gap. The blade in his hand winked and glinted in the light as he swept it from side to side in front of him. When he suddenly threw the blade forward it took Kyle completely by surprise and he had no time to register the arcing blade as it sliced through the air and into his thigh. His finger tightened on the trigger shooting wide and missing his mark.

Cobb was right behind the blade, launching himself on top of Kyle as he fell backwards screaming in pain. Both men grabbed for the hilt of the knife but Cobb was there first and held on tight twisting the blade, sending shuddering waves of agony into Kyle's body.

ooooo

That lone gunshot was all Sam needed to start running. He'd no idea who had shot who, or what he'd find when he got into that boathouse and he didn't care. All Bobby could do was shout a warning to the younger Winchester as he thundered past him…"Sam, wait...SAM." But there was no stopping him.

Bobby worked faster, coiling the rope around Joey's slumped unconscious body, pushing him tighter against the same tree Bill was tied to. He had to work faster, had to follow Sam…

ooooo

Dean heard the scream of the gunshot. It echoed through him causing the demon to surge and recoil in anticipation of its victory. He looked at the devils trap laid out at his feet and could feel the demon laugh at the bizarre mutated symbols and half binding words it saw there. This sorry excuse for a sigil held no power over it, this demon could not be bound by half crazed scribbling and now it was going to prove its superiority once and for all.

The demon threaded along Dean's arms sending unnatural strength into his muscles, making short work of the wet ropes twisted around his wrist. The ropes at his ankles quickly followed whilst all the while Cobb sat pinning Kyle to the floor, twisting his blade sharply and enjoying the younger man's screams of agony.

Dean stood slowly, compelled to step over the impotent yellow markings. He haltingly walked towards the two men and reached out, powerless to stop himself from grasping Stanley's head in his hands…feeling the sweat stained, lank hair against his palms, and almost gagging at the overwhelming stench of stale whisky and hatred.

He felt the demon recoil inside him, unwinding and pulsing down through his arms and into his fingers. But it had no intention of shifting hosts, it wasn't leaving part of itself in Stanley Cobb…it was choosing to destroy. It burned synapses and nerve endings, demolishing the fragile hold this man had on his sanity…and Dean could only watch it happen. He fought to remove his hands, to drag his fingers from the old man's head and finally with an almighty wrench, Dean and Cobb flew apart – the older man skidding across the floor whilst Dean slammed into the far wall against the trunks.

"DEAN?" Sam voice was clear and loud as he burst into the boathouse. He skidded to a halt; his pistol aimed as he took in the scene in front of him. Kyle was rolling on the ground, both hands wrapped around his bloody thigh where the hilt of the hunting knife was still visible, and Cobb was lying on his back staring up to the ceiling, twitching spasmodically as though fitting.

Dean slumped against the far wall, feeling the heat radiating from his limp body. Sweat dripped down his back and face. He swiped at the drops; they made his skin itch and burn. He rubbed at tired eyes, trying to remove the stinging sweat that made his vision swim, and then he could make out Sam standing by the door and held up a hand. "Sam, don't come any closer…"

"It's okay Dean…"

"_It's not okay…Sammy, please…stay away."_

"No, Dean, we're gonna save you." Sam's damp eyes creased with emotion but his voice held strong. "We've got a plan, you've just got to trust us…just got to trust me, Dean."

It was only when Sam saw Dean reach for the flare gun on the nearest trunk that he got an inkling of what he was planning. "Dean, please, you have to stop this now." Sam lifted his arms; hands outstretched trying to desperately to calm his brother, trying to hold back his own growing panic.

"Can't stop it, Sammy…not strong enough…tried, but I..." Dean met his brother's eyes drinking in the deep sadness he saw there. "I'm sorry…Sammy."

"DEAN NO…" It was all Sam could do as he saw the resignation in Dean's eyes, saw him turn the flare gun and point it to his own chest pressing against his flesh.

Without any hesitation, Dean pulled the trigger sending the flare pounding into him. Sam stood and watched in shock and disbelief as his brother's body was lifted clean off his feet by the force of the projectile slamming into him at such close range. He was thrown clear across the room, crashing through the rotten wood partition, sending splinters of wet timber in all directions. And he saw Dean's limp body fall into the bruising water beyond.

The shock of the impact sent a shudder through Dean as the murky depths engulfed him. He was colder than he could ever remember being, his blood, flesh and bone, all turning to ice as his body sunk in the black water. He could sense the demon surging up through him, raging, trying and failing to burn…and screaming in anger at the shock of this assault. And then hiding, retreating to a place deep inside, a place where there was still some warmth to be had.

Dean instinctively held his breath as he felt the urge to fight, to survive, to swim to the surface and breathe. He fought the impulse with every ounce of effort he could muster. All he could see under the dark murky water was Sammy's eyes, creased in pain as he held out both hands almost in prayer to a brother too weak to help him – _the anguish and the heartache in those eyes_.

With his last remaining strength, Dean held on tight to the heat burrowing inside him, his only thought left…to save Sammy; to take this bitch down…sinking to the depths of the lake as though they were the depths of hell, and drown the_ fucker_ in the freezing blackness. And he'd be right there walking behind it, just to make sure it found its way back to hell where it belonged.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14 So not the plan

Special thanks to those guys who've reviewed, you all keep me going and I love reading what you all think and answering every one. And also a big thanks to those who review anonymously. It means I can't respond from the reviews box but I wanted to say a huge thanks to you all anyway.

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 14 - This was so not the plan

Bobby stood up from his place at the waters edge, just in time to see Dean's body fly backwards and out of the boatshed, landing in the cold lake with an almighty explosion of water. His chest was a mass of amber and gold flame that fizzled out as his limp form hit the waters surface and was sucked down into the dark.

Swiping off his cap, he flung it on the ground at his feet. "no…no…NONONO." This was not how the plan was meant to go down. It was all wrong, God damn it, this was NOT THE PLAN.'

"DEAN…" He heard Sam's cry out and watched as the younger Winchester dived from the edge of the building into the deep water after his brother.

Stunned, but only for a second, Bobby did the only thing he could…he ran to the lake's edge, the last place he'd seen both boys. Reaching the lapping icy water, the old hunter waded up to his waist and scanned the eddying, dark surface for any sign of either Winchester – but there was nothing.

The rippling opaque mirror of the lake had returned to its rough undulation as though nothing had happened. Bobby waded in further, craning around, searching for any clue. The longer he saw only black water, the tighter the feeling in his chest and the more the panic gripped him…he couldn't loose these two…he just couldn't. He felt rage and desperation, and ultimately hatred for a world that could put those boys through so much, day after day, just to let it end like this.

"Come on – GOD DAMN IT" He didn't know who he was shouting at. He'd believed in God for too damn long to think praying would make a difference now. That old man only worked in mysterious ways, not the down to earth practical help that they needed right now…But he didn't care. Didn't care about anything except the two boys sinking down into the depths of the icy cold water and he needed to rage at the world, he didn't care if anyone or anything was listening or not.

And then there was something, a faint noise, a splashing coming from right behind him. Swinging round he caught sight of a shape that looked almost human, but it bobbed on the surface and immediately started to sink again. Bobby hadn't swum in years but that didn't stop him. Thrashing out towards the centre of the lake he reached out and felt material and skin. Grabbing hard he pulled with all his might, finding strength born of the fear and the desperation of loss. Just then Sam's head broke the surface a little way off to the left and gasped for air, spluttering and coughing as he fought to stay afloat.

He tried to shout to Bobby, tried to tell him to grab hold of Dean and head for the land but the words wouldn't come. They stuck in his throat as he vomited up water and silt and tried to draw in breath. But as he looked over to his brother's body, he saw Bobby turn Dean's unconscious shape over in the water, take hold of his jaw and start for the shore.

Dean was a dead weight, soaking and freezing cold but somehow Bobby managed to thrash to the shallows and drag the prone form up on the shore with Sam stumbling in quick pursuit. Between them they hauled Dean's frozen body to the edge of the woodland.

Water still pouring from his hair and beard, Bobby pressed two fingers against Dean's throat. There was a pulse…fast, weak and thready, but it was a pulse.

Sam scrambled around behind his brother, hauling his drenched body up so Dean's back was pressed against his chest, his head tucked under Sam's chin. With trembling fingers he eased aside the material covering the bloody scorched hole in his brother's body, revealing the extent of the self inflicted injury…and watched as the flesh folded in on itself, knitting back together…forcing out the debris and shrapnel lodged in his skin from the blast of the flare gun.

He looked up at the old hunter, desperately questioning. "Bobby, can we do the exorcism here?"

He'd watched the healing as it happened and looked back hesitantly at Sam. "Gonna have to...I don't think we can afford to wait."

ooooo

Cobb lay on his back against the mouldy wall, blank soulless eyes staring upwards at nothing, hands trembling intermittently as he stammered tiny sounds from deep inside his throat. Bobby couldn't help stare at the wreck that was left of Stanley Cobb on the way back into the shed…and if he'd been wearing his cap he'd have taken it off to whoever thought up that little bit of retribution, at least here was proof that some people in this world got exactly what they deserve.

Keeping one arm protectively round Dean's waist, looping his fingers into his belt, Bobby let Sam take most of his brother's weight, half carrying, half dragging him back into the musty, dank room. Kyle was on the floor, just where Cobb had left him, grimacing as he tried to twist his own tourniquet in place above the gaping leg wound.

Leaving Sam to lower Dean to the ground, Bobby made his way over and took in the appearance of his old friend, hissing through his teeth. Kyle's pants were soaked in deep crimson from the jagged puncture in his leg, the knife covered with his blood lay at his side and he looked as pale as smoke. "Are you up for this, Kyle? You gonna be able to help with this? Cos I'm gonna need you." Bobby reached out grabbing the younger mans' arm.

Kyle met his gaze and for a second something unspoken, something meaningful passed between them, then he shook himself and scowled at his old friend. "Don't talk crazy old man, had enough of crazy for one day…we stick to the plan, you know the rules." He breathed deep biting back a painful groan before reaching out and grabbing Bobby's arm, allowing the older man to help him get to where Sam was tending to his brother.

The older Winchester was a mess; soaked through to the bone and unresponsive. A black charred wound blossomed on his chest sending dirty streaks across his almost translucent skin. Kyle also took in the other injuries; a faint scar down his face, from eye to lip, the bullet holes in his neck and chest, and what looked like a shotgun wound on his side. They were all new marks, the folded scars standing dark against their pale surroundings.

He painfully lowered himself to the ground next to Dean, gently cupping the boy's slack face in his hand and noting the ashen, cold skin and rolling eyes. And he shook his head sadly…this kid had tried to kill himself, tried to end this creature and himself with it…all to protect the people he loved. He looked up at Sam, positioned at his brother's side and saw nothing short of that same devotion looking back, and once again memories of John Winchester flooded his mind.

Reaching forward he thumbed one blue tinged eyelid, showing a gentle shard of deep green…surrounded by a perfect sliver of amber. He looked at Bobby and they once again shared a silent acknowledgement before speaking out loud. "We gotta move him, Bobby; gotta get him back in the trap…right now."

ooooo

It took Bobby less than two minutes to get to his Kyle's truck and return with his pile of research and supplies, and in that time Sam had taken care laying Dean on his back in the centre of the yellow chalk sigil, reluctantly binding his wrists to the metal rings attached to the floor.

Bobby stalked back into the boatshed calling out as he came. "Kyle, you sure about this? Cos we're only gonna get one bite at the cherry here."

"Sure as I can be…And how about a little positive thinking there, Bo? A little faith wouldn't exactly go amiss y'know. Right now you're just hurting my feelings." He grinned up from his place on the floor, scratching with the chalk on the damp wood, trying to recreate the symbols as best he could in the way they should have been drawn in the first place.

Sam watched Kyle at work and now turned to Bobby as the old man joined him, wiping away some symbols and replacing them with others, cautiously following the diagram in his hand. "Bobby, what are you planning? What is all this?"

It was Kyle who answered, Bobby looking less than confident with this plan. "Sam, this isn't a regular demonic possession and it needs more than a regular exorcism. The devils trap Cobb had him in didn't work, I spotted that the second I walked in…and he called ME an amateur?"

Bobby spoke up then, finishing where Kyle left off. "And don't forget what I told you Sam, this thing's ancient and only ancient rituals will have an effect. What Kyle's got here is the first exorcism, kind of more like a…biblical casting out. This thing ain't going back to hell; we're putting it down once and for all."

With a wince at the pain lancing through his leg, Kyle turned to the older man. "Everything's ready … changes to the trap are done, you got the text?"

"So we're doing this now…?" This time Sam couldn't hide the trepidation in his voice. He couldn't remember ever feeling so out of control before. It was as though he was handing over his brother's life to these two, and he wasn't handling it well.

Bobby shook his head solemnly. "No, not yet. We gotta choose our moment, Sam…if we exorcise this thing too early, Dean won't have the strength to heal himself…he'll most likely die from his wounds, but if we leave it too long…it'll fight…and it might win."

Sam shook his head in amazement, gesturing to his brother's still form on the floor. "That's crazy, how are we supposed to know when the time's right, and how long can he survive like this anyway?"

"We'll know, Sam. We need to be quick enough so the demon won't get too strong but give it enough time to finish its work healing your brother, that's all. It's as simple as that…Please, Sam, just trust us…we haven't let you down yet have we?" Kyle's voice was loud and commanding, cutting through Sam's confusion and fear.

It was a voice he remembered his dad using on those rare occasions when he'd stepped up to be a parent. When John had stood next to Sam and shared the moments of his childhood fears, for once without blame or recriminations, but with support and strength. It was the second time Kyle had asked Sam to trust him and although he hated to admit it, this man had come through for them already and been injured for his trouble.

And right now that was enough. It had to be enough. "What can I do to help? Just tell me what to do."

ooooo

_The demon worked harder than ever before, knitting together meat and arterie…pushing strength into damaged tissue that should have been beyond repair. It could feel its own strength wane as it strove on with its efforts to heal the host, and in response, it hunted out the comfort of those safe secure places where it knew it could lie fallow, strengthen and regain its focus. _

_Those warm and heavily protected places where the host housed his most painful emotions. Deep, and hidden… it coiled up and rested…safe in the knowledge that the host and the demon were now one._

ooooo

In the flickering light of a melting candle, Sam saw Dean's eyes glisten as they opened, slowly taking in his surroundings and showing no hint of amber or red in those troubled green depths. His head automatically turned to face his brother, his voice quiet and weak. "S'my? What happening? "

Sam called to him from the edge of the trap, desperate to reach out but knowing how futile and dangerous that would be. "Dean, just stay still, bro. it's okay, it's gonna be fine."

"I don't…S'my what's going on?" Dean's eyes rolled in their sockets but slowly he managed to focus. He saw Bobby standing tall with a dagger in one hand and a book in the other, heard him reading in a loud resonant voice with a harsh focused look in his eyes. He saw Kyle, standing by Sam, one arm held protectively on his little brothers' shoulder, anchoring him as if to hold him back, and he saw Sam's desperate pleading eyes, begging with everything he had for this rite to work…and Dean felt the dread course through him.

He twisted his wrists feeling the ropes bite into already broken flesh but the adrenaline and fear kept the pain at bay. He tried to call to Bobby, tell him it was all a mistake and that this wouldn't work…that there was only one way to end this with any certainty…but the words got stuck in his throat. Sam watched from the sidelines, desperate to reach out and comfort his brother through this ordeal.

Suddenly Dean's body doubled up, straining against the harsh bonds…wracked with deep coughing and bringing up foamy grey sputum and sulfur. As it subsided, his face was painted with fear, an expression so unusual to see on Dean, that Sam's heart clench in his chest. He'd always been the master of hiding those emotions, it was just so wrong.

Bobby's voice continued to echo through the empty building. It was the only other sound aside from Dean's breathing as deep tremors started at his toes and worked up his body. He focused on a spot on the ceiling and tried to calm his raging chest. He wasn't in control anymore and there was no use trying to do anything but let fate take its course.

It took a moment for the recumbent demon to realize what was happening, to perceive the threat it was under, but when it did it fought for its very existence digging razor sharp talons into the mind that housed it – it had no compunction to leave. It wouldn't vacate this host without a fight.

At the first sight of Dean's body arching in pain, Sam stumbled out towards his brother but faltered as Kyle's grip tightened and Bobby franticly shouted, breaking through his tunnel vision. "Sam, don't touch him or let him touch you…it moves between hosts through touch."

The warning stopped Sam in his tracks and he looked across at the older man standing at the edge of the devils trap, weaving the spell that would exorcise this creature from his brother. Returning his stare, Bobby felt choked by what he saw in those eyes. Complete and utter trust…no doubts at all.

Sam had total and absolute faith in Bobby and he silently prayed to be given the ability to do that faith justice.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15 Crying out for attention

One tiny swear word in this one guys but only the one.

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 15 – Crying out for attention

Bobby continued with the ritual like he was the one possessed, his words smooth and fluent, interwoven with hand gestures and the sprinkling of oil and holy water. He watched cautiously out of the corner of his eye as the candle flame's flickered and bucked wildly in answer to atmospherics inside the damp boathouse…but there was no breeze to feel. Kyle stood leaning against the wall, a deep grimace of pain on his face; his grip tight on Sam's arm, a reminder not to do anything rash.

"How long, Kyle? How long will this take?" Sam fought to keep the fear from his voice but failed miserably.

He answered with a tiny shake of his head. "Can't tell, Sam. Depends how strong Dean is – and how hard this demon's willing to fight."

Sam dropped his voice to a whisper. "He can't take much more of this…"

The anguish lancing through Sam's words made Kyle wonder if it was Dean or his brother who 'couldn't take much more of this'. He coiled his fingers, gripping tighter into the younger man's jacket, trying to reassure as much as restrain. He opened his mouth to speak but before he had the chance, the exorcism took hold in earnest.

There was nothing natural about the ungodly fiery wind that howled through the boathouse. It swept through the large space spinning in and out of the sparse furniture. Anything that wasn't tied down or heavy enough to be anchored was cast into the air and sent swirling along with the storm. It focused around Dean, riffling through his hair as he twisted and cried out while the boiling wind extinguishing the candles and surged through his shirt sending it flapping against bruised skin.

This was like nothing Sam had ever seen before, and it made no sense to him. Why was this demon not succumbing to the exorcism like all the others? It was fighting so hard. The game was up, wasn't it? Why was it even trying? This thing clearly meant to take Dean with it.

"BOBBY? WHAT'S HAPPENING?" Sam was panicking now; all he could tell was the thing possessing Dean was tearing him apart from the inside out and it didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon. He could see his brother writhing, hear him screaming over the thunderous roar and the torrent of hot air, but all he could do was stand and watch.

Dean twisted and cried out again and again against the bonds holding him. The pain was excruciating. He could feel the demon and he knew it was fighting…holding on and digging in deep. He could feel it burrowing as it fought for its existence, uncaring of the damage it was causing its host.

Bombarded with wave after wave of fresh agony, Dean's body bucked upwards pulling at the ropes around his wrists cutting into the soft, broken flesh and forcing more gushes of crimson to drip from his fingers onto the sigil. Bobby saw the blood and it renewed his effort, strengthening his resolve and he chanted even louder as Kyle held on to Sam desperately trying to prevent him from doing something stupid that would quite likely ruin everything.

This demon was not willing to give up easily. With every word loosed from Bobby's lips it clawed again and again, swelling under Dean's skin, trying to find the purchase to prevent it from being drawn from the warmth of the host's body…but it was slipping. With every syllable, it was pulled further from the core and it dug deep in response.

With no breath left to scream and no energy in his limbs, all Dean could do was lie back and take the torture. Swallow this punishment for his weakness and ineptitude. He rolled his head to the side. Wooden splinters and grit from the floor dug into his cheek as pain weary eyes sought his brother. As their eyes met, Sam pushed Kyle away and threw himself forward, landing on his knees at the very edge of the trap. If he reached out now he'd be able to touch Dean's fingers…but the wide eyed gasp of fear that escaped from his brother stopped him dead. Dean shook his head slowly, the silent message loud and clear making Sam sit back on his haunches and reach out with his voice instead.

"Hey…Dean, DEAN, look at me..."

He was answered with pained eyes, mostly closed and glistening with half spent tears. Sam started to speak in a strong, determined voice and let everything pour out in a mass of knotted emotion. Those same words he'd used as he'd held his brother in the bathtub full of ice water, the same words Dean had used years before when Sam had needed not just a sibling…but a best friend, a confidant, a parent and a big brother all rolled into one…and he'd had Dean.

"You…remember all those things you used to tell me, Dean?...The things you taught me?... That we're here for a reason…that we all have hard choices…but if we can just stay strong, those choices will be the right ones?…You taught me that Dean...you taught me to keep fighting no matter what. That it doesn't matter what the world throws at you or trips you up with. You get up and you carry on…"

Sam was struggling to keep his voice from breaking, fighting to stay strong for his brother's sake. "You said it's not the size of the fight that we take on that's important, it's the size of the fight inside us…so you gotta keep fighting Dean, don't you give up…DON'T YOU DARE GIVE UP…YOU HEAR ME?"

Dean held Sam's eyes as the tears fell; both brothers a mirror for each others anguish…

…then Sam was thrown back by an unseen force, landing squarely on top of Kyle with such force that both men fell into a heap against the wall.

At the same time a harsh beam of translucent amber surged from the wound in Dean's chest making him gasp and arch his back wildly. Bright hot, raw light erupted from his eyes and mouth along with a piercing scream as the demon pulsed. It was strong and it was angry and it was being forced from its home, a place where it very much wanted to stay…so it fell back on what had worked for it before. The demon sought out the memories of Sam, of John and Mary…of all the painful and personal emotions that had weakened the host before.

But this time Dean was wise to its games. With the memory of Sam's words flowing freely through his head, he let his anger fuel him. He would not give up, he didn't know what it meant to give up…he'd never been taught how. That deeply hidden spark that was innate Dean Winchester had found its tinder once more, and it glowed stronger and brighter than it ever had. The demon roiled at the part of Dean that faced it, stared it down and pried its claws from his abused flesh. Dean pushed with everything he had and everything he was, and gradually, the demon lost its purchase and with it, its hold over him.

Bobby new this exorcism was coming to a head, he could see the signs. The ragged tremble running the length of Dean's body, the sheen of sweat forming over his face as well as the distinct tinge of electricity in the air. He spoke even louder, shouting over the roar of the light still blasting out from Dean's face and body, and finally, when he knew the time was right, Bobby plunged the dagger into his own arm, ignoring the pain and the cascade of blood and concentrating instead on splashing red across the sigil and onto Dean's contorting body.

The second the blood touched Dean, the demon was expelled…rising from the twisting shape like smoke from a dying fire.

It turned, and for a fleeting second looked back at the man who'd been its host. It looked into Dean, seeing everything he was, tasting every part of him and spitting him out, leaving him empty and broken on his back at the centre of the sigil. Then it roared upwards bursting through the ceiling in a plume of flame…a gigantic firework of molten lava arcing its way across the dimming sky and gradually evaporating into the cold, early evening air leaving a fine rain of ash and dust to fall on those below. Dean felt the heat leach from his body in spiraling waves, leaving him cold, his heart a splinter of ice melting in his chest, and he knew for certain once that was gone... there'd be no part of him left.

The silence was deafening as Bobby allowed himself to fall to his knees, crushing exhaustion finally getting the better of him…but he only took a second to regain his focus. He couldn't make out if Dean was breathing through the thick black ash covering his body but he'd be damned if he was gonna lose him now – not after all this.

Quickly he scrambled over but Sam was there first, brushing the dirt and dust from his brother's face and desperately feeling for a pulse, pulling his head round to rest in his hands. "Dean? C'mon Dean, wake up bro."

Sam's voice betrayed his as he hung on tight to the too still body. His pulse was barely there and his breathing shallow, but he was alive. Sam looked up at Bobby, the tears he'd been struggling to hide cascading freely down his face.

Kyle stumbled over, laying a reassuring hand on Bobby's shoulder and handing him a cloth to bandage his wrist before kneeling and sawing at the ropes holding the older Winchester in place. " I think you did it, Bo. It was a wild one, but I think you did it."

Dean lay still in his brother's arms, the faint green of half closed eyes appearing muted and opaque. His lips were blue tinted, slightly parted and a shallow line of blood tinged spit was weeping from the side of his mouth. Sam cradled his brother, gently wiping at his face, dragging his thumbs across the cold skin…but there was no response. Nothing. Not the slightest sign or symptom that Dean was about to surface or that he was even in there at all.

Kyle was the first to give voice to their concerns. "What's wrong with him, Bo? Why isn't he waking up? He's gonna wake up, right?

And then Sam. "Why isn't he waking up…Bobby?"

The old hunter sat holding the bloody cloth to his wrist and looked hard in Dean's face, and for the second time in as many hours he wished he'd kept the cap on his head. Then he would have something to hide his eyes and maybe he could pretend to have some answers, but once again...he had nothing. All he could think was he'd exorcised that _fucking_ demon too soon.

He sat mutely watching as one brother held the other, not sure what was breaking his heart more…the devotion these two had for each other, or the fact that he'd just failed them both.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes but it seemed like a lifetime as the three men sat watching Dean breathe, his chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm as the dimming light glinted softly off moist eyes. Sam had started rocking, gently moving forwards and backwards as he held his brother in a tight grip, but didn't look like he realized it. And Dean certainly didn't. It would be damned cold in hell the day Dean Winchester let a woman rock him, let alone his own brother. Dean should have been fighting out of his brother's arms by now…except it wasn't happening,

Running a shaking hand through unruly hair, Bobby quickly glanced around…only then realizing that Cobb was nowhere to be seen. "Damn, DAMN…Where's Cobb?"

Kyle peeled his eyes from the two brothers, reaching for the gun tucked deep in his waistband. "Go check, I'll keep watch…"

Bobby didn't wait for more…he bounded up and out the door scouring the woodland for any sign of Stanley. The other two grunts were still where he'd left them, unconscious and tied to a tree on the edge of the clearing. And they could stay there and rot for all he cared. They'd made their choice, now there were consequences to be paid. He scanned the area one last time. If Cobb had made it out, he'd done it on foot…all the vehicles that'd been there before were still parked up.

Grabbing the first aid kit and the thick rolled up woolen blanket from his trunk, Bobby stalked back into the shed and straight over to where Sam held his brother.

"Any sign of Cobb?" Kyle scanned the room as he spoke, almost as though he expected to see him hiding in a dark recess, ready to jump out at them.

"Long gone…And we need to take a leaf out of his book. How's he doing Sam?"

Despondently, Sam answered. "Same…eyes open, mostly…but it's like he's not in there, Bobby."

"Give him time, Sam. He's had a hard couple of days, probably wouldn't want to surface too soon myself if I'd been through what he's been through." His reassuring tone was enough to start putting Sam at ease – but Kyle knew better. And as the older hunter started decanting antiseptic and gauze he couldn't help notice the old man refusal to meet his eye,

ooooo

The decision to take Dean back to Bobby's was made swiftly; the trip itself took a whole lot longer. Kyle couldn't drive and Sam wouldn't leave his brother's side so the plan pretty much wrote itself. Bobby would drive them all in his truck straight back to the breakers yard, only stopping for water and gas…and hell could take the rest. They'd sort out vehicles and motel room bills once they'd taken care of the important things.

It took five hours…five long grueling hours of sticking to the back roads and speed limits before they pulled into Bobby's yard. He'd driven as fast as he dared – couldn't afford to draw attention to themselves – with Kyle in the passenger seat fighting pain and blood loss and his two precious burdens in the back.

Sam held his brother as though nothing else mattered in his world; protecting Dean's ash stained and broken body from further harm. Wrapped in the blanket he'd been given and buffeted against the ruts in the road, he whispered constantly in his brother's ear the whole time…but Dean showed no signs of noticing.

ooooo

He walked slowly, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, with no knowledge of where he was, no memory of where he was heading or where he'd come from.

He existed in a world of dust, sleepwalking through the haze…stumbling on a gruel of ash and sand.

The wind howled around his head so loud he couldn't hear his own thoughts anymore. It bullied and cajoled him into surrender and this time he succumbed…willingly. He could still sense the devastating solitude surrounding and permeated the empty wasteland, but now he gave himself over to it gladly…laying his body down on the hard ground and not getting up.

He took a breath and tried to remember how he'd come to be here…but the memory dissolved before it had even had time to form. Before was just a dream that was absorbed by the void…it was unimportant.

He was made of the ash; he was blown by the wind. That's all he was…and that's all that was left of him.

TBC

Two chapters left guys and thanks so much for all the incredible reviews and especially the e-mails from those people who have made suggestions or given me the word up about mistakes, that kind of feedback is like gold dust. Thank you.


	16. Chapter 16 Are we supposed to talk now?

One or two tiny swear words but hopefully not bad enough to offend. Thanks.

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 16 – Are we supposed to talk now?

For as long as Sam could remember, Bobby's place had been a port in a storm for Winchesters, and it probably always would be. He'd been here as a child, a teenager and a man but always felt the same safety and warmth that had never existed anywhere else for him. Not even in Stanford. This place was an unconditional sanctuary.

Bobby's room was the biggest with the largest bed and that's where they settled Dean. The old man knew Sam would be staying in that room too, he wouldn't dream of suggesting otherwise, couldn't' think of separating those two. Between them, Sam and Bobby had checked Dean from head to foot the second they'd got to the house, cataloguing his injuries and cleaning, stitching and dressing where it was needed. But physical injury aside; there was nothing to explain the state he was in. His body was in a bad way, granted, but he'd had worse…a lot worse.

The lukewarm water in the bowl by the bed was rapidly turning the color of ash, but Sam continued to wipe the sweat and dirt from his brother's skin, rinsing the cloth out and starting the process over. Traces of the grey dust still lingered between Dean's fingers and under his nails, and his hair had been turned a whole shade darker by the dirt, but right now that was one of the less important concerns.

He was breathing, his heart was beating and his skin was cool to the touch, but apart from that Dean Winchester was absent. His eyes had drifted closed, the lashes becoming dark spiders of sable against a face that was too pale. His stillness was profound…the emptiness was there for all to see.

Sam knew what to do, he'd been trained by the best; keep him warm, keep his skin clean and dry, keep talking to him and if there's no change in twelve hours, talk about the options. But none of those options were good. Sam knew after a few more hours they'd have to consider hospital care. Dean would need a drip to keep hydrated at the very least, and there was always the possibility that there was something they'd missed, some head injury sustained during the exorcism perhaps? A part of him prayed it would be that simple. He'd waited patiently for a sign, a sound, for an _anything_ that would give him the confirmation he needed. Proof that his brother was just sleeping… simply resting to get his strength back, nothing more ominous than that. But deep down he knew all was not well, and he knew Bobby knew it too.

Again it was Kyle who was first to voice their shared concerns as he stood watching from the doorway.

"I know what you're thinking, Bobby, but you don't know this is down to the exorcism, and even if it were…you didn't know." Kyle mostly whispered to the old hunter but he was loud enough for Sam to hear and look up sharply. The accusation in his eyes made the older man shift awkwardly.

Bobby stood mute, one hand wrapped around his own mouth as if trying to keep the words in. Kyle took a breath and tried again. "Y'know, it's possible that this is his way of coping, his way of retreating from a world he can't live in. Maybe he's where he needs to be right now."

"Why don't you just shut the hell up about things you know nothing about?" Sam hissed through a clenched jaw as he turned towards the other man. "You don't know anything about my brother."

"Sam, I didn't mean…"

"I know exactly what you meant…and you're talking crap. If you don't have anything more helpful to say, just get the hell out."

Sam's anger spat out of him like red hot embers from a furnace but deep down Kyle knew it wasn't aimed at him. He understood that this was retaliation. A gesture of defiance aimed at the world that had conspired to put them all in the position they were in. But it didn't make him feel any better. With a short nod to Bobby he hobbled back into the kitchen.

Sam watched him go out of the corner of his eye knowing he'd overreacted, but also knowing that Kyle was wrong…because there was one pure and defining quality about his brother that he hadn't taken into account. Dean Winchester would NEVER hide, retreat or give up…not while Sam still needed him and right now…_Sam needed him more than ever._

Bobby said nothing, he just turned and followed Kyle, leaving Sam to finish up cleaning the dust and ash from Deans hands. He worked carefully moving around each finger painstakingly slowly, paying acute attention to what he was doing. Once he was satisfied he dropped the cloth in the bowl and left it to sink in the water…as something else caught his attention. On the table, hidden by books and papers and the bowl full of floating grime was a tape player and a dusty pile of cassette tapes.

The machine was dented and chipped and had probably been bought brand new, thirty years ago. What was it with hunters and technology? Talk about guns and urban warfare and Bobby could tell you cutting edge stuff happening all over the world in an instant, but try to find a working CD player in his home and the place became a museum.

He riffled through the small pile of tapes on the bedside table, dismissing the ones he didn't recognize and most of the ones he did. He settled on the only one in the stack he could be sure that Dean would like and that was only because it was the twin of the tape that took pride of place, idly slotted into the player in the Impala, ever ready to be pushed into place. For 'classic rock' emergencies, Dean had said, although he'd never explained exactly what one of those would look like.

He pushed the tape home and pressed play; listening to the first few chords of Zeppelin's Kashmir and adjusting the volume to make sure Dean could hear. But then he paid it no heed as he sat down wearily on the edge of the bed and watched the slight rise and fall of his brother's chest.

"Where have you gone, dude?" Sam's voice was tiny but it spoke volumes. "Y'know, Dean, you can just wake up anytime now…whenever you're ready, man. I'll be right here…"

ooooo

Laying flat on his back Dean stared up at the cloudless sky and felt the gentle breeze sift through his hair. The heavens seemed to go on forever, a glistening upside down sea of cobalt stretching right into the corners of his mind. As the sand shifted with the wind, it piled up against his body cocooning him in its warmth. He was starting to like the supportive feel of it, like lying in a giant hand…cradled and protected.

He felt completely at peace.

In fact he couldn't remember what there'd ever been to fight about…couldn't remember where he'd been just moments ago...maybe he'd been nowhere? Maybe he'd always existed in this pale desert. Yeah, that felt right…it felt right to be here. This was where he belonged….

But there was something pulling at him…something familiar that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Images floated, misting above his head. The empty sky was suddenly full of translucent shapes, coalescing but not forming into anything recognizable and Dean still couldn't put a name to them. And there was a faint noise, just an echo, but growing slowly.

Then from his place on the ground he felt a sharp dig in his ribs. He snapped his head up and found the same small green eyed child from before staring down at him. The boy frowned, poking him in the ribs a second time.

"Hey, enough...I'm up."

The toddler just kept on frowning, his green eyes harsher than they had a right to be for a kid his age. Dean looked back at him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to have done to piss this kid off so much.

"So, are we supposed to talk now?"

The boy smiled then, real wide as though showing off his milk teeth with pride and then scrunched his shoulders in a huge shrug.

"Hah, guess I didn't talk much back then did I?" He scratched the sand out of his hair as he sat up and looked around with a little more interest. "So, other people go to their happy place with wine women and song, and I get a deserted wasteland, with a four year old version of me…go figure."

As Dean leaned forward he watching the boy poke out his lips in a pout. "Sorry dude, don't take offense."

The boy frowned again, this time scrunching one side of his mouth, trying to look cross but Dean thought it only made him look comical. Was that really how he'd looked all those years ago? It made him smirk to think so. It was definitely his sulk though; he remembered that…and with one memory came another. Of a different small child, a few years younger who sat studying his features intently and copying that sulk from his face, trying his hardest to look exactly like Dean…he knew that boy…his name was…on the tip of his tongue.

He watched the kid turn and squat down, starting to draw in the sand, twisting his finger through the pale yellow ash, bobbing his head this way and that, admiring his own creation. As he worked he poked out his tongue in concentration.

The sky was still swirling over Dean's head, the images still just out of reach...but that noise. Damn. What was that…?

Looking over the boy's shoulder he watched the child's finger move, making shapes in the sand…the shape of a perfect devils trap…complete with ornate coils and heaped piles of ash worked through the symbol. And something in Dean's memory clicked back into place.

His head was suddenly full of things he should never have forgotten in the first place. Images and feelings overlapped memories of hunts; and people, and birthdays, and fights…all mixed and confused and overwhelming. He remembered his last school…then the knife always tucked under his pillow…then the hospital where John died…he remembered his dad, and his mom, and Bobby, and he remembered Sam…Sam talking to him, telling him to fight…to not give up no matter what…

…and then he recognized the music…it was Zeppelin.

ooooo

Dean lay still and listened to the music until the tape ran out before he even tried to open his eyes. There was something heavy and warm against his side and it was making him feel too hot. He tried to push it away but his hand was sluggish and wouldn't do what he wanted. Tilting his head towards the warmth he felt soft hair against his bare shoulder and heard a gentle rumble of breathing.

Carefully he opened his eyes wider and looked down, immediately recognizing the heavy shape next to him as Sam…his back curled into his brother's side, sleeping soundly and snoring softly…just like he had when they were kids and needed to share a bed. Suddenly that overwhelming feeling of being cradled and protected flooded back in abundance. Sam was next to him. Sam was safe and at the end of the day…what else mattered?

It was only then that he registered the pain he was in. His body thrummed with a dull ache that started in his bones and made its way out through his skin. Even his teeth were sore; there was no part of his body that was pain free, and he couldn't stop the quiet groan from escaping as he centered his head back on the pillow.

Sam stirred at the noise, his breathing becoming shallower as he stumbled from sleep, his eyes blurry but snapping open as he saw his brother awake. "Dean…? Dean!"

Weak, but getting stronger, he spoke quietly to his brother. "Get your own bed, dude. And turn that tape over."

TBC


	17. Chapter 17 Truth and its consequence

Well, here it is, the very last chapter of this story. Hope you have all enjoyed up till now and hope you enjoy the finish. There will be a sequel one day, but for now I have other completed stories to post and I also would love to spend a bit of time R&Ring some of the outstanding authour on this site. Thanks for every review, especially those guys who stuck by the story all the way through. I'll start posting a new story in a week or so. Thanks XX Louy

One or two tiny swear words but hopefully not bad enough to offend. Thanks.

Better to burn out – than fade away

Chapter 17 – Truth and its consequences

During the day, Sam found every reason under the sun to stay hanging around the bedroom where Dean was convalescing. The pure joy of seeing his brother awake was like a shot of caffeine every time he looked at him, and two days later he still hadn't lost his smile or his 'high on life' attitude.

But it was chipping away at Dean…wearing him down, and he starting to dread his brothers upbeat mood just as much as he dreaded spending time alone. Except that at least when he was alone there was no pretence…no need to act the part of 'big brother'. He could allow himself to be what he really was – a _'useless fuckup'_.

At night, while Sam lay sprawled on a cot just a few feet away, still refusing to leave his brothers side, the self imposed demons did their worst. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing the face of the man in that alley, more vivid and lifelike than any nightmare he'd ever had. Flashes of memory seared into his mind, blowing through him so harshly that more than once he wondered if the demon was truly gone.

The battle was fought every night.

Over and over Dean re-lived, re-worked and dissected the events, until by dawn the tiredness sat heavy on him like a lead weight around his neck, dragging him back into the mattress every time he tried to get up.

Bobby watched it happening and new that soon he would have to say something. Someone had to turn that boy around and make him see sense cos right now he was heading in completely the wrong direction. And Kyle saw it too.

It was hard to get Sam to spend more than an hour at a time away from his brother, so the guilt trip Bobby laid on him to get him out of the house was the work of a master. In all fairness Bobby had given him a choice, he could either fix the cars or go buy food, after all there was only him and Bobby who were fit to drive and there was precious little food left, soon to be even less now Dean was awake.

Although he didn't want to be left alone, Dean needed the time to think, he needed space to try and file this sorry episode somewhere under _'failure'_ in that huge catalogue in his brain called _'waste of space'_.

Hearing the door squeak open, he dropped his eyes and allowed himself to keep staring at the quilt. What now? "Sammy, I said I'd be fine…you don't need to…" Glancing up, he paused when he saw Kyle limping into the room, a determined look plastered across his face.

"Thought you and I should have a talk…That brother of yours is sure hard to get rid of, isn't he." He looked at Dean thoughtfully and sniffed. "Kinda like a limpet."

Dean said nothing; this man was still a stranger to him. All he knew was what he'd been told. That he'd been the Ace up their sleeve and the game had been won because of him. Apart from that, this man was a mystery. The fact he'd been injured went some way to prove his metal but the sight of him holding Sam back, keeping his brother safe when Dean was the threat…that was the catalyst for hearing him out. That was the reason Dean would listen but it didn't mean he had to speak.

Kyle was not a man to be put off lightly though. "Okay, so I'll do all the talking then, that works too." He swept a look around the room and pulled up a wooden chair, hissing in pain as he sat and lifted his injured leg, propping it on the end of the bed. He focused all his attention on Dean.

"Y'know, I knew who you were the second Cobb showed me that photo. You're the spit of your daddy…but you must know that, right? Maybe minus a good few years and a bit of mileage but still, there's no mistaking you…recognized you straight away. It's the eyes." He smiled at the younger man but got nothing for his trouble. Yeah well, he'd known this wasn't gonna be easy. The kid had to have more of John about him than just his looks.

"I knew John pretty well at one time – long time ago now. He had a real fury about him. Always gave me the feeling there was no way we could lose, cos hell wouldn't have the balls to mess with John Winchester." He smiled softly at the memory.

Dean chewed on his bottom lip, not sure of where this was going, and not sure that he wanted to be along for the ride. He eyed the other man almost suspiciously. "Kyle, I appreciate what you're trying to do but…"

"Telling me to butt out, huh? Well unfortunate for you while you're in that bed…" He patted the mattress making the bed bounce slightly. "…you're a captive audience, and I haven't had one of those for quite a while." He smiled, again trying to win the younger man over and again getting nothing. Shifting stiffly on the hardwood chair and finding no comfort, Kyle suddenly become a lot more serious. He needed to take this up a notch or two.

He narrowed his eyes and took a breath. "Your daddy used up a lot of good energy hating my guts, Dean. Shame really…cos I liked him." That got a curious glance but nothing more. "Thing is…I can't blame John for hating me…hated myself for a good long while too." He paused as he saw Dean raise his head, starting to take in what he was hearing.

"It was…hell, must be at least fifteen years ago and we were…um…working a…job." Kyle stumbled over his words, finding it harder than he thought, spilling all this to John's eldest.

"There were four of us; me, John, Bobby and a friend of his. Kid not much older than you are now. We called him Twig. Hah. Kid was thin as a rake and wiry as willow. He loved his nickname though, said it made him feel part of something big…like he belonged…like we were all family". Kyle had started twisting his fingers into the spare blanket on the bed, working the material into a knot.

"Anyway; job involved an exorcism…big nasty one. All started out fine enough; we each had our part to play. John was finishing off outside when we started the spell… should have waited for him really but ain't that just like hindsight?…Turned out we weren't dealing with a possession at all. Whole thing went ass over tit and before I knew it, all I saw was this…blood red creature burst out of the body it was in and come right at me with murder on its mind…" He stopped speaking long enough to rub at his eyes with one hand, feeling the grit of sleep on his fingers.

"…and…I ran…I ran so fast you wouldn't have seen my dust…the ground didn't even know my feet were moving…" The half smile that broke his face bore little resemblance to any happy emotion, it was just a way to diffuse the pain of the memory, and Dean recognized it for what it was.

Kyle looked up when he realized he'd been staring at a fixed point on the floor and saw Dean watching him, carefully returning the eye contact. The older man swallowed thickly, there was no turning back now…"It was only later that John told me…the demon had ignored me and made for Twig…that thing split him open like a piece of overripe fruit and scooped out his insides…what was left of him just soaked into the floor. John and Bobby managed to finish it but only just. Bobby still has the scars to remind him…"

Kyle let go of the blanket and took another brief moment to get composed before continuing. "So, anyway…John found me, and he told me exactly what he thought of me…didn't mince his words either. Said if I ever came close to you or Sam he'd do to me what that demon did to Twig. After that I sunk pretty low…looking at the big bad world through the thick end of the bottle, so to speak…it was the only way out I could see at the time…"

Dean opened his mouth as if to say something but thought better of it. He was finding himself drawn into this tale and even though he didn't want to, he cared about how Kyle had come to be the man he was. John's involvement hadn't surprised him, he knew his father was capable of a great many things – and 'sitting in judgment' had always been one of them. He'd always seen the world in black and white, leaving shades of grey for those who he considered, didn't have what it took to do what was necessary.

Kyle sighed and cleared his throat before continuing. "…then Bobby tracked me down... took him the best part of a year to find me…and I though, 'here it comes again'. But I was gonna sit there and take whatever he dished out cos I thought I deserved it. Instead of bawling me out though, he took the bottle out of my hand and dragged me back here. Must have been 3 months working on the cars and doing jobs for him barely exchanging a word, and then one night he sits across the table from me and he says something…something that I'm gonna tell you now. So, even if you haven't listened to a word I've said, you listen now and you listen good…"

Kyle leaned in closer to the younger hunter, the intense emotion shining from his eyes…

"…the only person you're responsible for is you, Dean. Not that muscle in the alley, not that asshole Cobb and not even that kid brother of yours, although from what I hear you won't believe that last part. You're the only one who'll blame 'you' for this. But you're the only one who can forgive yourself too, and at the end of the day you managed to expel it. You pushed that bitch back…and by doing that; you saved all the others who'd have been hurt or killed later on."

Kyle looked away then, shaking his head solemnly. "We only do what we can do, Dean, and at the end of the day that's gotta be enough."

He slowly stood then, looking to the door for an escape, this was way too much emotion for one day and it was exhausting. But he still had one more thing to say before he left. "That brother of yours loves you, and so does the old man. I would give anything to have a living soul in this world who thought that way about me. Don't make them have to fight on without you, kid."

Just then, the bedroom door opened and Bobby stood with a look of mild confusion. "Kyle? What you doing?"

"On my way out right now, Bo. Just needed to sit down for a minute or two…been on my feet all day and thought I'd keep Dean here company for a bit." With a slight smile and a last look at Dean, Kyle left putting on a dramatic show of limping out of the room and past the old hunter in the doorway.

As soon as he was out of earshot Bobby closed the door and walked to the bottom of the bed. With hands on his hips he fixed Dean in his sights, forcing the younger man to meet his stare by will alone.

"Dean, you listen here. We do what we do, son, and we use what were given. You ain't superhuman, that's all there is to it. You ain't the first person to kill someone while you were possessed, and you won't be the last...But what you do have is the power to stop those sons of bitches doing the same thing to someone else…and that ain't nothing, Dean. That. Ain't. Nothing."

Then silence. Bobby had said all he was going to say and he spun, marching out of the room with the same determination that'd brought him in.

Dean stared at the empty space for a full minute before slumping back into the bed with a sigh and a half muttered last word. "Kyle put it better."

ooooo

Bobby closed and locked up the house for the night. It had turned cold but the whisky he handed Kyle had a warming effect that stripped off the chill. Both men sat at the table in the kitchen and listened to the murmur of Sam's voice drifting through the wall, deep in conversation with his brother about the events of the day. But unlike recent chats they'd overheard, this time Sam's voice was balanced by Dean's deeper tone, joining in and even laughing at something indistinct his brother said. It was a good sound. Bobby hadn't heard anywhere near enough of those boys laugh and he had plans to do something about that.

He pushed the bottle to the centre of the table so it fell within easy reach for them both and sat in silence for a moment, listening to the boys.

"John did a good job with that pair." Kyle nodded to the wall between them and the bedroom.

"Dean did a good job with John and Sam more like."

Kyle smiled warmly. "Think a lot of that boy, don't you."

"Deserves more than life's given him that's for sure…both do as a matter of fact…"

Kyle let out a barked laugh. "I'll get you that bonnet, Bo…but you'll have to buy your own pantyhose, wouldn't want to guess your size."

Bobby snorted feeling his eyes water as the whisky went down the wrong way. He smiled but recovered his composure quickly. "Take it you been exorcising a few demons of your own. So how's that working out for ya?"

Kyle kept his eyes on the glass. "Small steps, that's what you told me, remember?"

Bobby nodded and reached out taking the bottle and refilling both glasses. "Well, as long as you keep pointing in the right direction, small steps is all it takes." He smiled warmly at his friend, lifting his glass and watching as Kyle mirrored him.

ooooo

That night, as Sam twisted on his narrow cot and tried to get comfortable, Dean found himself finally drifting off to sleep and for the first time since his recovery he dreamt…and for the first time since the book, there were no nightmares.

There was just a wasteland and a small child with bright green eyes and a quirky smile, drawing pictures in the sand.

ooooo

Polishing glasses was such a cliché. No self-respecting barman washed glasses by hand these days, but it was a habit and it gave the place a quaint feel for the punters so…

Only ten more minutes till closing, and hearing more mumblings from the small booth at the back, the barkeep decided this was a situation he was going to have to confront. He didn't relish the idea of having a 'stand up' with that old guy but he needed him up and out. Putting down the glass and draping the bar towel over his shoulder, he slowly walked over to the darkest corner of the empty bar.

Stanley Cobb was a frightened man. The faint tremble that was his constant companion made his hand quiver, almost spilling the cheap whisky down his shirt. As he drank, he nursed the bottle tight, clutching it to his chest as though it might vanish into smoke if he released his grip.

"Excuse me sir...we're closing up now."

More mumblings, incoherent rambling, something about demons, and a book, and the fires in the pit of hell…Jeez why did all the crazies come from this side of town? Deciding caution to be the better part of valor, the bartender walked back to his glasses. He'd give the old guy five more minutes then let the sheriffs department deal with him…he didn't get paid enough for anything else.

'Must remember to tell them about the _demons_ and _hell fire_ when I phone…oh, and the gun obsession…guy couldn't stop muttering about Winchesters…'

The End

Hope you all enjoyed this tale, thanks again to everyone who left reviews, you've all been so encouraging. I'm off to Italy for a week now but I will reply to every one as soon as I get back. XX Louy


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